


Take A Chance

by girlskylark, thesearchingastronaut



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles Plays the Ukulele, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, American Football, Chatting & Messaging, College Football, College Student Achilles, College Student Patroclus, F/M, Flirting, Flirty Achilles, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fraternities & Sororities, Friends to Lovers, Friendship / Flirting / Thinking of You Fest, Fuck Boy Diomedes, Gay Achilles, Hopeless Romantic Achilles, House Party, M/M, POV Patroclus, Partying, Patroclus (The Song Of Achilles) is Bad at Feelings, Patroclus and Briseis Are Best Friends, Physical Therapist Patroclus, Protective Odysseus, Quarterback Odysseus, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Texting, University, frat boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-18 09:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15482730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlskylark/pseuds/girlskylark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesearchingastronaut/pseuds/thesearchingastronaut
Summary: When Achilles suffers a major injury during a game against the Trojan Eagles, the Greek Stallions team has more than just his recovery to deal with. Achilles falls head-over-heels for PT-in-training, Patroclus, and his flimsy attention span gets sidetracked away from where Odysseus and the rest of the team needs him.Patroclus is an independent Pelion University student with a great internship with Stallion PT, Chiron. Achilles, however, proves to be far more convincing than his patient-practitioner protocol. From away games to frat parties, Patroclus dances around Odysseus' fury, Briseis' irritation with Achilles, and Penelope's eager encouragement in order to find out for himself what, exactly, he hopes will happen between him and Achilles.





	1. Just A Little Crush

**Author's Note:**

> _Disclaimer: We decided to use the German spelling for Patroclus, **Patroklos** , which is close to the traditional Greek spelling of his name (Greek: Πάτροκλος, Pátroklos, according to WIKIPEDIA LMAOOO)_

 

Achilles Myrmidon was the star of Pelion University—no one could compare to the light he brought to the forefront of the Greek Stallions. 

Signing Achilles to the Stallions was the greatest achievement in Pelion’s career as a football powerhouse—aside from being the cherry on top to all the gossip surrounding Thetis’ familial quarrels. The last thing his dear mother wanted was to find him signing his college years away to her ex-husband, but it was destiny to onlookers. Achilles’ relationship with his father nurtured his inevitable enrollment to Pelion.

Peleus Myrmidon, Achilles’ father, was a noble choice when it came to the onslaught of full-ride scholarship opportunities available to Achilles. Among them were some of the best in the game—Georgia and Alabama (never his style), the Badgers (not a high enough GPA for a decent degree), and Penn State. 

“ _Traffic is expected to have up to hour long delays outside of Trojan University. Campus streets are being monitored by police for game day, which is to be expected considering—_ ”

Patroklos raised the remote up and shut off the television. The moment the screen dulled, his apartment washed over in blue, striped shadows from his blinds. He closed the blinds as much as he could, but it did little to block out the street lights outside. The silence swelled like a bubble, trapping him in the storm of his anxieties. 

_I really shouldn’t be watching that_ , he thought, his chest already aching from the discomfort of holding this stress all night. 

He settled into bed thinking back to all the Myrmidon family escapades in the tabloids, and how he’d followed them nearly religiously upon choosing Pelion University for his undergrad. 

Thetis’ established career as an Olympic swimmer and athletics advocate was enough to put Coach Peleus and their son Achilles into the spotlight. Peleus’ clear hand in drawing Achilles to Pelion was always a matter of tense debate in Thetis’ interviews. She expressed disapproval at every turn, and Patroklos could only imagine the pressure it put on Achilles’ to do his decision justice.

_As if my family issues could compare_ , Patroklos mused.

He rolled onto his side with his phone light glowing against the fringes of his dark hair. He scrolled through the article in the faint blue of his apartment. The blinds on his windows did little to cover the street lamps outside.

It was the night before his first field training session with Chiron. The general panic on just  _being on television_ for all of this had his heart flipping in his chest, the panic keeping him up long past midnight and into the early morning. To compensate for his brain’s inability to shut off, he drowned himself in articles of the players that he memorized long before, but couldn’t help but return to. 

He pinched his fingers on the screen and spread them out, zooming in on a photo of the Stallions. It was a post-game photo from their match against the Skyros Sirens—Achilles in a vibrant orange-on-blue jersey marked with the number 1. Beside him, a broad-set Pelion senior by the name of Odysseus stood, marked by the number 15 and a wide set of straight, white teeth against his olive skin.

Patroklos remembered the headlines when he first moved to California for his bachelor’s. He was early to university, and early to get into a DPT program at Pelion. Leaving the East Coast was the best decision Patroklos had ever made, but he just wasn’t seeing it yet. The rewarding atmosphere of  _independence_ was hardly a reward, because the age separation between him and his fellow PT peers marked him as an outsider.

Chiron was the head of the Clinical Sciences department, and being in  _his_ favor put Patroklos on everyone’s envy list. He couldn’t blame them—he was twenty-one with a bachelor’s degree and one year into the PT program. 

But, going to a school like Pelion signed him up for an onslaught of sports medicine candidates, and a field training session with Chiron on game day. 

Patroklos rolled onto his back and settled a scowl at the ceiling. He lowered a hand over his eyes and sighed.  _I should have said no_ , he thought,  _but then Chiron would just think I’m clinically insane. Shadowing at a Pelion Stallions versus Trojan Eagles match. It’s the biggest upset of the year after the Stallions’ consistent ten-year winning streak._

The Stallions were at the lead of the playoffs, and the Eagles were their best match. If the Eagles won this game, they’d win the Playoff National Championship Trophy.

Which meant that they were willing to risk any number of injuries on the Stallions’ side if it meant winning gold.

_Why would Chiron bring me to the front line when so much is at stake?_ he thought, and continued to think through the morning as he readied for a long day on a coach bus. The team was all due to gather out in front of the stadium at six in the morning, and Patroklos arrived with Chiron just before then, standing at the curb as the coach came out to greet them.

Patroklos had seen Peleus’ face more than once in papers and articles online, but he hadn’t expected to find the man so radiant this early in the morning. His smile was almost startling as he grasped onto Chiron’s hand with both of his own and gave it a firm shake. 

“Chiron, it’s great to have you with us today. And I see you’ve brought us one of your students,” he commented. Patroklos’ chest seized up, realizing that perhaps he  _should_ have rehearsed some lines last night when he failed to fall asleep.

Chiron saved him, though, interjecting with a simple, “Yes—Patroklos, this is Coach Peleus. Patroklos is the top of our first year class.”

“A little young to already be in Pelion’s DPT program,” Peleus commented. Before Patroklos could have the good sense to blush, the back door of the stadium opened, and a stream of players walked out with their duffles tossed over their shoulders, and tired smiles on their faces. Given all their stellar confidence on the field, Patroklos was surprised to see faint lines of worry creasing their brows. 

Patroklos clasped his hands on the strap of his own duffle, eyes to the ground as the players stepped past him and climbed up one-by-one into the coach bus. He watched the morning sun cast long shadows off of their continual marching before Peleus’ called out to his son. Teasing spurred, and Patroklos spared a glance up at player number 2, Ajax Telamon. 

His eyes fell naturally to Ajax’s shoulders before realizing that the man was far taller, and far larger than any other athlete Patroklos had worked with. And, so, up his gaze when to where Ajax scoffed and ducked into the coach bus, muttering, “ _Daddy’s boy_ .”

“Piss off,” Achilles said, about to kick his foot against Ajax’s shins until his father grabbed him by the strap of his duffle and hauled him back towards Chiron. 

“He isn’t a morning person,” Peleus said, dropping an arm around his son’s shoulders. 

Patroklos felt exceedingly inferior the longer he stood in Achilles’ and Peleus’ presence. Despite the early morning, Achilles managed to smile like he always did for the cameras—dashing, light, charming. Every reason why Patroklos was never surprised to see posters of Achilles’ in some of the girls’ dorms back in his undergrad. Nearly everyone who attended Pelion came with a background in football and track with high hopes of winning the Olympic Trials. 

“Morning, Chiron,” Achilles said, softening if only a little. The summer had yet to leave his golden skin and his sun-bleached hair. “Who’s this?”

Achilles glanced at Patroklos, who dropped his eyes immediately and turned to Chiron for assistance. He couldn’t open his mouth, let alone speak. His tongue had gone dry. 

“This is Patroklos—shadowing Chiron for the game,” Peleus said. Patroklos hadn’t expected the man to remember his name, and it brought his attention up to Achilles father. Peleus dropped his hands onto Achilles’ shoulders and gave him a light shake. “And  _this_ is the star of our game.”

“If I’d known you had time to boast before leaving, I would have slept in for another ten minutes,” Achilles said with a roll of his eyes. He brushed his father’s hands off and stepped around them. He offered a meager wave to Patroklos and pat his hand on Chiron’s shoulder. They were the last ones on the bus.

The team was spread out between two coach buses that pulled out of the stadium parking lot twenty after six. As Patroklos followed Chiron on board, his eyes scoped out the faces of Pelion’s greatest—men no shorter than six foot, built of pure, stocky muscle and protein powder. Patroklos couldn’t help but picture the scans of football players brains on the table. Repeated trauma shrunk the ventricles and damaged their brain tissue—

He sat down nearest the window so his eyes wouldn’t be tempted to stray over to Peleus’  _star pupil_ sitting several rows ahead amongst a crowd of his teammates. The sounds of their voices and laughter lifted as the trip went on down to SoCal, and exhaustion from such an early morning vanished. 

Still, Patroklos couldn’t help but listen. Achilles’ voice was vibrant and energetic, coupled with dramatic gestures, up on his knees on the seat as he mimicked something one of their teammates had said at last night’s practice. He couldn’t finish whatever it was, because his teammates started laughing before it was over. 

Achilles’ voice broke into giggles, slapping a hand over his forehead as he cried, “I swear that’s how it went! What do you think he said?”

“No—No, it was more like—” They all took turns until they were all crying from laughter. Achilles fell out of view, collapsing back on his seat so that Patroklos could realize that he’d been staring.

He turned back around, attention returning to the windshield where fog gathered on the road, and Chiron sat in the row ahead of him. 

Patroklos pulled a sweatshirt from his duffle and folded it neatly on his lap. He pushed it up to the window and pressed his head to it. If he couldn’t sleep last night, then at least he could try to sneak in some sleep now before they arrived in San Diego.

 

* * *

 

Patroklos hadn’t expected to feel so comfortable on the sidelines of a game. All the buzz around them was enough to distract the attention of camera crew, and so it left Patroklos at Chiron’s side, calmer than he’d been the night before. The intensity of people shouting, cheering, yelling near the bench was nothing compared to his determination to keep his eyes on his players. 

Chiron laid a reassuring hand on Patroklos’ back as the Stallions scored a field goal. Royal blue filled the stands in a wave of cheers, and the orange Trojan Eagles fans sat among them, tolerating the torture by just a hair. On the field, Odysseus tackled their kicker with a wide smile, swinging them around back to center field. Distantly, Patroklos could hear a newscaster speaking on camera, and as he turned to look towards Peleus, he found the man stepping behind a camera projector watching the replay of the kick.

They were in the second half and Achilles had scored them a decent cushion, but the frustration was drawing the Trojans thin. Patroklos heard it in the next clash of helmets, and how they had their sights on Achilles as he ran for Odysseus’ throw. 

Achilles was the swiftest receiver in the conference—that much was certain. His mother could have made an Olympic runner out of him, but he was stubborn enough to stick with what he loved most with the teammates he admired so much. He wanted the attention of diehard fans and teammates who would carry him up on their shoulders at the end of a game.

His cleats tore up grass in his path, curving closer to the 30 yard line where it intersected the sideline. A Trojan defender cut parallel to the yard as Odysseus’ perfectly-aimed throw would, in theory, provide Achilles enough leeway to the center of the field if they chased him down the sideline—the perfect window for a touchdown if Achilles perfected the pivot towards the center. 

He was faster than them all, but by some miracle, a Trojan lunged upon Achilles’ pivot and leap, intersecting him in the air for the catch.

Their helmets clashed. They were close enough for Patroklos to hear the  _thud_ of their bodies colliding before Achilles twisting upon the flat of his cleat catching grass—

Chiron gestured to him, jogging forward down the line with Peleus close behind. 

Every replay would show Achilles rolling, skidding across the gras, unable to catch himself on his bum leg. A fall like that should have been taken body-first, not by one leg. Landing flat-footed would tear something, no doubt.

The Trojan was on his knees, lifting up to his feet as Achilles pushed himself up onto his elbows. As the referee pulled Chiron over, kneeling beside Achilles, Patroklos paused at the sight of Achilles’ confused expression exposed from the helmet he lifted from his head. He dropped it into the grass and let it tumble as Chiron laid a hand on his shoulder and asked where the injury hurt the most. His wide eyes drifted away from Patroklos then, looking as though he didn’t understand what Chiron was asking of him. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not injured—”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Chiron said. “Can you stand?”

Achilles braced his hands on the grass and pushed himself forward and up. He steadied with a hand on his father’s shoulder, and straightened his legs. He raised his chin triumphantly at this feat until Patroklos said, “Take a few steps forward.”

Achilles lowered his head, eyes down to his feet as he walked, unable to point his toe on the follow through. Still, his expression remained stoic as he said, “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.” 

Patroklos looked to Chiron, who gestured for him to take the wheel.

Patroklos raised a hand to stop Achilles before crouching down at his feet. He lifted Achille’s leg at the knee and pressed his fingers to the toned muscle of his calf. He checked to make sure he wasn’t causing any pain, and when he did, Achilles rolled his eyes, one hand braced on his father’s shoulder. “I told you, it doesn’t hur— _shit_ !” 

He squeezed harder then, and Achilles nearly doubled over. His foot hadn’t pointed upon triggering the reflexive muscles in the calf. Patroklos let go and felt around Achilles’ ankle through the socks, just above the lip of his cleats. No indentation—a partial tear, perhaps? It’d be a simpler recovery so long as Achilles’ tendon hadn’t ruptured. He looked up and hesitated at the tension on Coach Peleus’ face, down to the fine lines of his worn wrinkles tightened above his brow.

Patroklos looked to Chiron instead. “His tendon is partially torn,” he said. “I don’t think he can play—running might only cause the tendon to rupture.”

As Patroklos lowered Achilles’ foot back down, Peleus walked off the field after giving Chiron a stern, almost threatening glare. Patroklos stared after him before turning from Peleus to Chiron. He’d just deemed Peleus’ star player unfit to finish the game—the same man who’d scored the majority of the points that night for the Greek Stallions. 

Chiron shook his head, and that small reassurance was enough to lessen the tension in his shoulders so that he could help Achilles’ off the field.

Despite refusing to lean on Patroklos, Achilles let himself be guided off the field to the sound of the Stallion fans’ disappointment. Patroklos ignored the distraught noises of fans groaning and putting their hands to their heads as they watched Achilles walk off the field with a partial limp and a straight-lined frown. The moment he was deposited on the bench, he put his elbow to his knee, head to his hand, and remained like this through the rest of the second half. 

Near the end, Patroklos returned to refresh the ice pack strap near the tear where swelling started to bruise the skin around the injury. He hesitated a few paces away, catching the eyes of one of Achilles’ teammates sitting nearby. A freshmen, sent by the coach to try to console Achilles to no avail. The freshmen shrugged and stood to move away, giving Patroklos space to work.

He crouched beside Achilles and said, “Are you in any more pain, or is it about the same?”

“A two.”

“By now I can tell when an athlete’s lying,” Patroklos said. Achilles turned a dull stare towards him and said nothing. “I used to work at the free clinic on campus.”

“How old are you, exactly?” he asked, and Patroklos relayed that he was twenty. Achilles turned his stare onto the fields, and Patroklos took that as a good sign. The man had been staring at the bruise as it swelled this entire time.

Patroklos wrapped the cold strap around Achilles’ leg and fastened it with velcro. “I’m sure your coach has already told you, but the best way to land if you get knocked out of the air like that is on your ass,” Patroklos said. He wasn’t looking, and so Achilles’ bright laugh startled him into jumping. 

Achilles threw his head back laughing, leaning back on one hand while he used the other to brush away the stray strands of blonde hair that fell from his bun. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he sighed, settling into a relaxed smile as Patroklos rested his forearms on his knees. “In the moment, I kind of forget common sense. Won’t happen again.”

Patroklos made the mistake of meeting Achilles’ eyes then, and felt a flare in his chest like a fusee signal. It caused his heart to leap into his throat and make him incapable of saying anything more than a stunned, “G-Good.” He pushed himself to his feet and started down the bench, only to stop as Achilles caught him by the hem of his shirt. 

“So do you work for Chiron now?” Achilles asked.

“For now, yes,” he said. He waited as Achilles dropped his hand with a satisfied nod and turned his attention back to the game. Patroklos looked out at the field as he heard the Stallions on the sidelines shout in frustration, and the stands gasp in horror at seeing another Stallion went down on the field. Patroklos ran off, and didn’t see Achilles for the remainder of the game when the Trojans took another two players down with minor injuries.

Achilles’ injury was the start of the end of their match against the Trojan Eagles. The score cushion Achilles’ provided coasted them through to the end of the buzzer. Knowing that he had secured their win entirely winded Achilles and the tension in the rest of his teammates’ shoulders. He slumped back against the bench with a relieved sigh, almost laughing at the sheer amount of luck it took to score this win against the Trojans. Since signing to Pelion, the Trojan Eagles had stepped up their game and put even more pressure on their winning streak. Before Achilles, his father had Jason Fleece—a recent graduate from Pelion and receiver for the Seahawks.

He spied Odysseus among the crowd, heading in his direction. Achilles tensed, unsure of the expression on Odysseus’ resolute face—perhaps a scolding? mutilation? death?  _I did save the game for him, though_ , Achilles reasoned, certain then that this wouldn’t be the death of him.

Odysseus dragged him off of the bench and hoisted him into a fierce hug. Achilles startled, laughing, and said, “See? You can make it without me—”

“Don’t even joke about it,” Odysseus seethed, swinging him around before lowering him gently back to his feet. Just as Achilles thought he was in the clear, Odysseus smacked his hand upside his head, loosening his hair. Achilles yelped and rubbed at the impending bruise as he braced for the shouting. “You fucking idiot! I can’t believe you tore your goddamn tendon—”

“You say that like I did it on purpose,” Achilles whined. Odysseus rolled his eyes, snapping his helmet down onto the bench. He dragged a hand down the side of his face as they were approached by the shadow Ajax dropped over them. 

“If you’re looking for praise, you won’t find it here,” Ajax said, and Achilles’ hope crumbled.

Patroklos watched from afar as Ajax tackled Achilles’ in a joking headlock to wipe the frown off of Achilles’ face. Truthfully, he’d heard enough from Chiron to understand the complications that came with treating athletes, especially ones of Achilles’ caliber. The pressure they put on themselves doesn’t factor in time for recovery.

Given those facts, Patroklos hadn’t expected to find Achilles bonding with his teammates so smoothly after getting an eight-week recovery sentence. Their celebratory attitude followed them to thewhere Patroklos could hear them far down the hall, their voices echoing from the pool room. After such a long day, and after a game like  _that_ , they all should have been passed out in their designated beds. 

Patroklos lowered his beach towel down in disappointment, turning to head back to his room. He was stopped immediately by the sound of the elevator dinging, the doors sliding open no more than a few paces from where he attempted an escape. 

He froze at the sight of none other than Achilles exiting the open elevator door with Odysseus in tow. Seeing Odysseus there like a constant, ominously judgmental shadow spiked Patroklos’ anxiety tenfold. Thankfully, Achilles’ familiar smile returned, and he was relieved that at least  _one of them_ wasn’t appalled by the sight of him.

“Patroklos!” Achilles cried, hobbling forward. The crutches Chiron gave him rattled as he swung towards him. “Chiron suggested swimming, so we’re heading over. Seems you’ve already gone though.”

“Oh—no, not quite,” Patroklos said with a nervous wave of his hand. He side-stepped them and circled around to the elevator. “Have fun swimming—”

He was quick to press his floor number in the elevator, but Achilles was just as fast slamming his crutch on the door to hold it open. Patroklos dragged his eyes down the length of Achilles’ toned, tan arm to his soft, encouraging smile. His will to remain stubborn melted with that cunning grin.

“Well, if you aren’t there, who’s gonna stop me from challenging all these losers to swim races?” Achilles said.

“Me,” Odysseus interjected, reaching forward and tugging Achilles by the arm. “Now let’s move it. Stop tormenting the kid.”

“He’s not a kid—!” Achilles cried, staggering to pace with Odysseus. Patroklos listened to the rhythm of Achilles’ crutches as he demanded Odysseus slow down and turn back, but the elevator doors were finally closing.

The moment he was on his own, he leant back against the elevator railing and sighed. It took far longer to quell the rapid beating of his heart, though.

Despite how his mind replayed the image of Achilles’ teasing smile saying, “ _Well, if you aren’t there—_ ” Patroklos somehow managed to sleep like a rock until Chiron’s alarm sounded the next morning. On game nights, traffic was often too chaotic to leave cities the size of San Diego, but that morning, they’d bus back to Pelion without a problem.

Patroklos dropped into the same seat he occupied the morning prior, and settled in for a long trip consisting of a combination of staring out the window and reading from his neuroscience text book. He propped the book onto his lap, crossing his ankle over his knee, and readied for Coach Peleus to deem them ready for the road.

In the midst of starting the first paragraph of the chapter, something—or some _one_ —dropped into the seat in front of him. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it had he and Chiron not claimed the far back, away from the commotion of the football players chattering amongst themselves.

He looked up just as Achilles settled his forearms on the back of his seat and leant his chin against them. Achilles tipped his head to the side and asked, “What’re you reading?”

Patroklos couldn’t think of anything else to say aside from, “A textbook.”

“For what?”

“Clinical neuroscience,” he said, somewhat self-consciously. In the dorms, he spent all his time in the study rooms because his roommate had terrible sleeping habits, and a tendency to bring over friends who’d lean over his shoulder and say, “ _Oh, that looks so boring—and difficult!_ ”

Achilles hummed to himself, tipping his head in the other direction with a smile. “Nice. So what’re you learning about now?”

Patroklos stared at him. Achilles blinked back, awaiting his answer. Patroklos glanced across the aisle as one of Achilles’ friends dropped down into the seat, and others began crowding around. They always  _did_ seem to gravitate towards Achilles. 

Achilles repeated the question. He shifted up a little to lean over and see the textbook, even as Patroklos drew up his knees to hide the text from Achilles. Like neuroscience was a  _secret_ .

“Treating disorders of immunity and inflammation,” he said at last, hoping it’d be enough to deflect the attention.

It just drew him more because Achilles’ automatic response was, “Oh, nice. I love it when you talk medical to me.”

Every part of Patroklos simultaneously shriveled up and died at the sound of the nearby players shocked snorts and laughter. He dropped his eyes to the window frame, away from the attention of the guy across the aisle saying, “Dude, what the fuck.”

Achilles frowned at him and said, “ _What?_ I’m just saying it’s cool that he’s studying PT! Stop laughing, Diomedes!”

Achilles tore out his still-damp pool towel from his duffle and whipped it at the guy, and the sudden streak of violence that tore across the bus then wound up in a full-on war until Coach Peleus whistled deafeningly loud at them and told them to knock it off. Patroklos sat in total astonishment long after Achilles dropped back into his seat and resumed an otherwise peaceful bus ride back home. 

As the other players settled in for long naps during the trip, Patroklos went back to studying, and tried his best to focus even when a shadow fell over the pages, and he  _knew_ Achilles was staring down at him again. After several minutes of this, Patroklos had read an entire page without absorbing a thing. He lifted his eyes up to where Achilles seemed content on studying the page upside down.

“If you want to read it, it’s probably easier to do so right-side up,” Patroklos said. 

“Oh, I’m not—” Achilles started, only to pause and shut his mouth when he met Patroklos’ eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

He disappeared out of sight, only to reappear waddling around the seat and dropping into the spare spot beside Patroklos. Achilles pulled down the tray strapped to the seat in front of him and laid the textbook over it. 

“Don’t those things have weight limits?” Patroklos asked, and Achilles shrugged. He steadied it carefully before leaning in and flipping towards the back of the textbook. He dragged his thumb over the pages, skimming past the last two sections of the book in obvious amazement.

“Do you have to read  _all_ of thi—”

Something snapped, and it cracked with a torturously loud  _pop!_

Patroklos flinched, and watched as the plastic tray began to tip towards him. Achilles scrambled to catch the textbook, flinging his arms out uselessly before Patroklos caught the book and snapped its covers shut. The amount of commotion they made was followed by steady silence. They watched from over the cushioned seats as someone rose from their chair, and Achilles cursed under his breath in terror when Odysseus turned to face them. 

Patroklos held his textbook up as defense, hiding his face behind it as Odysseus stalked towards them, grabbing the seat in front of him as he leaned over to Achilles. Achilles stared back at him, back straight, injured leg even straighter with the brace Chiron all but forced onto him. Odysseus dragged his eyes over to Patroklos, who had been peering over his textbook until then. 

Odysseus hissed in a low, dangerous whisper, “What did I tell you about fucking with the new kid.”

“Not to… do it,” Achilles said.

“That’s right,” Odysseus said, grim smile murderous. “Now get back to your seat.”

“Right!” Achilles squeaked, side-stepping the broken tray and swinging back around to his own spot. Odysseus marched back to his seat and disappeared out of sight, leaving Patroklos ten shades paler, at least a week shaved off his projected lifespan. 


	2. Invitation To "Party"

 

Around lunchtime, the bus stopped for a half-hour break. The team all filed out for food while Patroklos unpacked the lunch he made for himself the morning before the trip to San Diego. He unwrapped the napkin he enclosed it in—something from his good friend Briseis had given to him when he signed the lease of his current apartment. It was decorated with illustrated prints of medicinal plants from aloe vera to ginger to chamomile. 

He’d been reluctant to go on his phone since the night he couldn’t sleep. It kept him sane until the morning of the bus ride, but now, that tension was gone. He worried about how Bri worried over him, and as such he expected the exact texts he found waiting for him as he crossed his legs and munched on half of a vegetable wrap.

Bri was in the premed program when Patroklos was in his undergrad, and so several of their courses overlapped. They spent the three years of Patroklos’ preliminary courses studying together and motivating each other in the worst of times. More than once they stayed up until four AM together in the University libraries, suffering and delirious on caffeine. So much bitter coffee corrupted Patroklos’ brain to exist without it. 

He had thought the oncoming headache was a mix of sleep deprivation and dealing with this onslaught of new emotions Achilles provided, but upon remember Bri’s caffeine-withdrawal intuition, Patroklos set his lunch aside and hurried out of the coach bus. 

The majority of the team had gathered around the bigger food joints, and so the line at the coffee shop was minimal. He skimmed the board for his designated drink—matcha, Bri’s favorite healthier option to coffee—and waited for his turn to order. He ran his fingers over the back cover of his phone through the entire wait, debating when he’d be ready to turn it on again. 

_Bri would understand, right?_ He was never fully comfortable with the concept of a cell phone anyways. Being constantly accessible to people was never his ideal state. His brain often shut down with too much intimate stimuli—it was why he was only ever comfortable studying alone with Bri for so long, and for so many days of the week. 

His turn came up in line, and so he relayed his drink to the cashier and passed her his card. As he waited for his drink to come up, he sat at the wooden countertop and studied the back of his phone case. 

It was there he heard the bell above the door chime. It wouldn’t have been that bizarre had he not also heard it accompanied by a very familiar rattling and a very familiar voice shouting, “ _Achilles—! Don’t you dare—!_ ”

Patroklos turned, and found none other than Achilles on his crutches standing on the welcome mat, scanning his eyes over the coffee shop. Distantly, through the front window of the shop, he watched Ajax attempt to hold back Odysseus with little success. Odysseus broke away at a sprint, disappearing from Patroklos’ view because Achilles was in front of him in the next instant.

“Odysseus doesn’t want me to invite you to our party on Saturday,” he said in a rush, clutching at the back of Patroklos’ seat even as he turned to face Achilles with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay…?” he droned. He wasn’t all that surprised, considering what sort of impression Odysseus made on him. It wasn’t like he had plans to befriend someone who glared at him that frequently.

“But I want you to come,” Achilles said. “You’re part of the team now, right? ‘Cause you work for Chiron?”

The bell chimed over the door as Patroklos started to shake his head, his adrenaline spiking at the sight of Odysseus—a full sized, six foot five  _quarterback_ —seething in their direction.“I shouldn’t—” Patroklos started. Everything about Odysseus was starting to trigger his amygdala’s fight or flight response.

Before he could completely settle on “flight”, though, Odysseus came for Achilles and hoisted him up off the ground. Achilles went up with a shriek, crying, “If you don’t come, who will stop me from sprinting! I’m a runner when I’m drunk!”

Patroklos caught the crutches just in time for Odysseus to snatch them and heft them under his free arm.

“Catching you _is_ my job, dumbass,” Odysseus said, kicking the front door open a gliding through with Achilles in one arm. He set Achilles down outside of the door, only to toss him over his shoulder so that Achilles wouldn’t test Odysseus’ sprint time.

Achilles flopped miserably over Odysseus’ shoulder as Patroklos stared after them, following their trail back to the bus where Diomedes met them to help detain Achilles from further threatened self-sabotage. Slowly, he returned his attention towards the barista bar, and found his barista staring after them, and then back to Patroklos with a tastey green drink in her hand.

“Vanilla bean matcha?” she said.

Patroklos sighed in relief. Time to cure that headache.

He left the coffee shop in time to make it to the bus just a minute before everyone gathered to head back to the road. He passed Achilles’ seat on the way there. It took a severe amount of effort to look at his phone instead to pretend like he was too distracted to notice Achilles’ expressive hope.

 

_________________________

 

(10:24) **BRI:** _Hey how’s the bus ride? Not too smelly I hope_

(18:35) **BRI:** _OH GODS_

(18:35) **BRI:** _PATROKLOS I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GOT TO TOUCH ACHILLES CALF_

(18:36)  **BRI:** _Not that… I care at all… You know me, Patty, but seriously that’s the most famous calf you’ve touched by FAR._

(21:56) **BRI:** _Figured you’re socially exhausted but I’m gonna hit the hay. Night, Patty._

(12:47) **PAT:** _What are you talking about it’s not that famous of a calf_

(12:47) **BRI:** _Oh, it totally is_

(12:48) **BRI:** _Any calf that’s been on ESPN is qualifies, you know this_

(12:48) **PAT:** _I feel like I really don’t believe you right now_

(12:49) **BRI:** _Please, I know what I’m talking about here and I say it’s the most famous calf you’ve squeezed._

(12:50) **PAT:** _Hey thanks for tolerating my chronic ghosting_

(12:50) **BRI:** _Do not change the subject_

(12:52) **PAT:** _Fine. Then if I hypothetically was invited to a frat party by a Famous Calf would you come with?_

(12:52) **PAT:** _Hypothetically, of course_

(12:54) **BRI:** _Hypothetically speaking, when is this party I have that exam tomorrow morning_

(12:54) **PAT:** _Tomorrow night_

(12:55) **PAT:** _Hypothetically_

(13:00) **BRI:** _Then hypothetically I would say yes_

 

 _________________________

 

Patroklos set his phone aside and stood to lean over Achilles seat. He found Achilles with his bum leg draped over one side of the seat, arms crossed, eyes closed and head back against his duffle. At the sound of Patroklos draping his arms over the back of the seat, Achilles peeked open an eye. 

“If I come could I invite a friend?” he asked.

“Depends,” Achilles said.

He sat forward, dragging a hand through the tangles of his now-chlorine-textured hair. Patroklos could smell the pool on him from this close, and he took an unconscious step to the side, waiting for Achilles’ condition. 

“Who’s the extra party?” he asked, twisting around to meet Patroklos’ eyes.

“My friend Briseis from undergrad.”

“Oh, then sure. I’ll put her name on the list.”

They stared at one another for a moment, stilling. It felt like a cold draft had washed down Patroklos’ entire frame. He shuddered at the sensation, and followed Achilles’ attention as he peered over the seats in the direction of Odysseus several rows ahead, squinting at them from over the seats. Patroklos flinched and lowered himself down and out of view. 

Patroklos sat still, a little disoriented, for several minutes as he waited for the world to stop spinning. He smiled to himself, pride surging from having the confidence to speak to Achilles first. The lightheadedness from caffeine withdrawals began to pass as he sipped his tea, and as he reached the grounds of the matcha powder at the bottom, something moved out of the corner of his vision.

He leant forward towards the window, and saw a pair of fingers pushing a slip of paper between the seat and the window frame. Patroklos plucked it out and unfolded it meticulously. 

 

_xxx - xxx - xxxx_  
My number so I can send the invite.   
I need your full names for it. 

 

Patroklos tore an edge of his notebook and, in blue pen, wrote his response. He rolled it neatly into a scroll and pinched it shut. When he nudged it through the gap, it was quick to disappear into Achilles’ hands.

Achilles was settled back against the seats with his head on his duffle as he raised the note up to his face and unraveled it:

 

_I can just tell you here._  
Patroklos Menoetidis and Briseis Lyrnessus  
I don’t really use Facebook but I have a profile 

_That should work fine.  
But I still want you to text me so I can have your number ;)_

_Truthfully texting stresses me out_

_How will we communicate?_

_By owl, preferably_ .

 

Patroklos pulled out his textbook again when he heard Achilles snort out loud and saw him kick his good foot in the air. Diomedes leant over to slap his leg back down, and Achilles apologized half-heartedly for being a distraction. Patroklos bit his lower lip to keep from smiling, but it was a futile attempt.

The fluttery feeling in his chest ceased to lighten through the drive, and through campus, and all the way into Pelion’s stadium parking lot. Work with Chiron that next week would be the highlight of Patroklos’ days depending on how Saturday panned out. Tonight, though, was dedicated to tending to the injured in the campus’ facilities with a full examination. 

One of their players was diagnosed with a mild concussion at the start of the first half, a twisted ankle on another, minor abrasions that didn’t require their help. Chiron performed Achilles’ full examination with Patroklos at his side in the stadium’s nurse’s office.

“No mobilization of the heel for four weeks—as you know,” Chiron said. “We’ll fit you with a boot today, but you’ll have to use a crutch for at least three weeks. Patroklos, lock the boot plantar-flexion to thirty degrees.”

As Patroklos went to fetch the boot, Chiron went on with the timeline of Achilles’ recovery. It was around then that Coach Peleus joined, grim-faced and growing displeased with every passing moment Chiron drew out the recovery process. 

He returned with the boot and removed the wedges from the heel. He and Chiron had already discussed the timeline, and so as Chiron wrote it all out for Achilles, Patroklos tore the velcro pieces apart and instructed him on when to remove each wedge. Achilles sat intently on the edge of the table, hands on his knees as he extended his leg and allowed Patroklos to wrap the padded sleeve around his calf and velcro it at the front. They removed the plastic sleeves from the sides of the boot and he demonstrated how to tighten and loosen the velcro strips holding the boot in place. Whenever he looked up to ensure that Achilles was listening, Achilles held contact for as long as Patroklos could manage to maintain his gaze. It was never for long.

“You can tighten them as the swelling goes down,” Patroklos explained, transferring the crutches to Achilles. He took the slip of paper from Chiron and tied it near the handle on the crutch with a twist tie. “And…  _that_ is the schedule for the wedges, and a prescription for pain killers. We’ll see you on Monday to start exercising movement.”

“Gee, thanks doc,” Achilles said, swinging onto his crutches with little care. Patroklos nearly chased after him to slow him down, but he was out the door and leaving them to deal with his father. 

Coach Peleus approached Chiron as the white-haired man tore the parchment sheet off the patient table and folded it up neatly over his arm. “Would you be willing to start PT on Sunday?”

“That’s up to Achilles,” Chiron said. “Either way exercising will be a slow-moving process. For now we’re trying to reconnect the torn sections of his tendon so they can repair themselves.”

“There really is no point in starting exercises sooner,” Patroklos offered. Peleus eyed him suspiciously, and Patroklos promptly shut his mouth.

Coach Peleus left shortly thereafter, and the moment the door closed and they watched Peleus’ shadow pass by the window blinds, Chiron laid a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Peleus has never been patient. He hasn’t seen a tendon rupture in his team in over twenty years.”

“That’s a long time to be coaching for the same team,” Patroklos commented. 

“Yes, well, it suits him well. I think he prefers the familiar territory. Some students turn into diehard alumns,” Chiron mused aloud, tossing the parchment out. “That was the last of them. Will you please take care of scrubbing down the place?”

“Of course,” he said, and watched as Chiron moved to grab his coat and messenger bag.Patroklos wandered to the sink and pulled out disinfectant wipes from the cabinet overhead.

Chiron slipped his arms into the coat and turned to Patroklos as he flipped open his bag and retrieved his car keys from an inner pocket. Patroklos began wiping down the containers on the counter, setting them aside so that he could clean the counter properly. 

Chiron said, “I noticed you and Achilles get along well together.”

Patroklos shrugged and spared a calculating glance in his mentor’s direction. He tried again when he found nothing out of the ordinary on Chiron’s expression. He’d seen the man irritated before in lecture in response to late work, but working side-by-side with him was another story. 

“I don’t know. He gets along with a lot of people,” he said. He turned away with a shake of his head, adding, “Besides, I’m shadowing you and Achilles’ is our patient.”

“He’s my patient,” Chiron corrected. “You act as a consultant or an assistant.”

“What are you saying?” Patroklos asked, but received no answer. He turned to look, and found Chiron pushing open the door and stepping out into the hallway. “Chiron—”

“Go, make friends—I won’t tell a soul,” Chiron said, and for all his stoic facades, he managed to make that one wink mean the world. Patroklos laughed, watching Chiron make his getaway past the office windows and out around the corridor corner.

Patroklos looked down to the cloth in his hands with a smile. He hadn’t expected Chiron to bring it up, but now? Now every other excuse he had for avoiding the party faded. Besides, it wasn’t like Achilles would be keeping tabs on everyone who came, right? The man had more than enough friends to keep track of that night. Bri would want to go simply because they hadn’t made a point to frequent frats any year prior.

Truthfully, the two of them had only attended one other frat party, and upon learning Patroklos’ severe inability to tolerate alcohol, going sober just didn’t seem worth it. He was too socially awkward to dance, and too claustrophobic in dance rooms to relax, so it was overall just one large mess. Bringing Bri would be his ideal buffer and excuse to stay away from the commotion. 

So, that day after working for Chiron, Patroklos locked the office door and made his way across campus to Bri’s exam building. He checked the time over the bathrooms outside of the exam hall, and watched students leave through the doors as the time ticked closer to the end of the exam. 

Patroklos took a seat at one of the tables and went on his phone. He avoided his messages in favor of pulling up an article he found on the commute that morning. Reading about Achilles made everything else feel like a dream—no, of course he hadn’t actually  _met_ the guy, or sat behind him in the coach bus, or treated him just that morning. Achilles was on a different plane of existence, and articles helped convince himself that the man he spoke to just that morning was different. Normal, even.

In the midst of reading through the post-game interview with Sports Magazine, he saw Bri approaching from the corner of his eye. He closed the article and look up to find Bri swinging her backpack down onto the table between them and dropping into the seat across from him. 

She was in her Exam Day Garb, consisting of loose elastic, high-waisted pants and a pajama shirt tied in the back. She twisted her dark curls over one shoulder and propped her chin on her hand, all her attention on him.

“Hey—How are you?” she said, reaching a hand out to tap on his bony wrist. He repeated the same action on her when he answered.

“Fine. Slept eight hours last night, so I’m feeling pretty okay.”

“Yeah? And are we still doing the thing?” she asked. “I’m indifferent, so if you really didn’t want to go I could be your excuse.”

“I do sort of want to go,” he confessed, straightening slightly. Saying it out loud felt permanent—it was a commitment now. “But thinking back on it, I haven’t decided whether or not it was something he was just saying to make me feel included. He seems like the type, but in a sincere way.”

“As opposed to…”

“Like, pitying-way.”

“Ah. Okay, well, if you think it was a sincere proposal to make you feel included, then I suppose the real answer is whether or not you  _want_ to be included,” she said. She pulled at the light strands of her hair, still highlighted from spending the summer with her family in New Mexico. Despite the severe dry heat in Santa Fe, Bri always seemed to be immune to the temperature—whatever it tuned in to. He envied her temperature tolerance. 

She dragged her eyes away from the posters on the wall behind him, and settled a lopsided stare in his direction. He tipped his head in the same direction as her. “What do you mean?”

She dropped her hands with a sigh. “Well, I  _mean_ that—Come on, Patty! These are football guys! You really think you have anything in common with them?”

“I like sports.”

“Yeah, and they  _love it_ . It’s their  _life_ . Do you seriously want to deal with that?”

“Well, my life is consumed by Clinical Neuroscience these days, so I don’t think I’m any better off—”

“Of course you are!”

“No, now that’s just being classist but in a major-sort-of-way. Majorist? That doesn’t sound right,” he said pursing his lips at the thought. Regardless, he shook his head and said, “Whatever. I don’t really care if they’re intellectual! Achilles seemed… interested in my studies. Truthfully, I don’t even know what he’s majoring in.”

“Probably linguistics.”

“You’re one to talk,” Patroklos huffed. 

Bri gave an indifferent shrug. “Well, I’m different. Double-majoring in Spanish and Health Management isn’t the same thing. I still have that medical background.”

“Not everyone can be an over-achiever like you, though.”

“Of course they can. Society is crumbling students’ resolve to do their best.”

“I would argue that the population crumbling the economy is crumbling students’ resolve to do their best.”

“That’s a leap, but I follow. Continue.”

“I just really want to know what he’s majoring in now,” Patroklos said, and Bri threw her arms up in annoyance and slumped back in her chair.

She pegged him with a disappointed scowl before saying, “You know, you really have to improve your topic transitions.”

He slumped forward with a groan. “I  _know_ . But I’m afraid that if I go, Odysseus will commit a murder—specifically  _my_ murder.”

“Odysseus? Why him? Did you insult his masculinity?”

“What? No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes you panic and say stupid shit.”

“More like panic and say nothing at all. I’ve barely said two words to the guy!” he cried miserably, slumping back in his seat. He crossed his arms and thought back to it and realized he hadn’t even  _said_ two words to the guy. He sighed, turning his solemn eyes back to Bri. She raised her eyebrows back at him. “Maybe I’m just not a likable guy. Odysseus hates me, and he’s best friends with Achilles. He’ll convince Achilles it was a shitty idea inviting me anyways, so maybe it’s best that we don’t go.”

Bri wasn’t much help in deciding. She watched as Patroklos contemplated everything painted in the picture of Odysseus dragging Achilles away time after time again. Odysseus was a  _senior quarterback_ in the Pi Lambda Phi fraternity. He had far more social sway than Patroklos ever would, and on top of it, Pilam was the biggest fraternity on campus. Pushing Odysseus any further than he already did would smother Patroklos’ social confidence even further.

He dropped his forehead to the table with a groan. “I shouldn’t have encouraged Achilles…” he moaned. “ _This_ is why I never socialized! It’s too stressful trying to navigate all this shit!”

“Precisely. So we’re out of the running?” Bri asked.

Patroklos debated it for another moment, and as disappointing as his decision was, he knew it was for the better. 

Bri drummed her hands on the table and grabbed her backpack. “Alright! Then let’s go!” she shouted, swinging her legs out and leaping to her feet. Patroklos straightened, and scrambled to catch up as she turned and gestured for him to follow.

He grabbed his phone and hurried forward, securing the strap on his messenger bag as he caught up and let her grab hold of his hand. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“New plan!” she said, thrusting her fist forward. “Ice cream! If I’m not getting wasted tonight in celebration of finishing Market Research, then I sure as fuck am getting lit off of a sugar rush!”

Outside of the Business School, they emerged beneath the dappled shadows of maple leaves and campus buildings arcing up overhead. The morning fog had lifted and left campus colored in bright sunlight and the cool breeze from the Pacific. The air smelled fresh from ocean salt, and Patroklos wished he could stay there forever with Bri out in the quad, sat on stone benches with a gelato in hand. He crossed his legs and breathed in the fresh air.

Pelion University was something of an anomaly when it came to big universities outside of the city. Just an hour-long trip north of Oakland, Pelion still gathered the traffic of San Francisco and cool autumn from Northern Cali. They were bracketed by a redwood forests preservation and the Pacific, and despite the dense college population, Pelion merged with nature where it could. 

Bri prattled on about her exam and how it would affect her grade in the coming months, and Patroklos listened to avoid everything else on his mind. Chiron didn’t work on the weekends, and by that logic, neither did Patroklos. He enjoyed those moments with Bri, and with his homework due on Monday. 

Bri licked ice cream from her spoon and said, offhandedly, “My father called last night.”

Patroklos hesitated, spoon sticking from his mouth. He turned a curious look onto his friend, who went on eating gelato as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Really?” he said around the spoon. 

He plucked it out as Bri frowned at him and shoveled another mouthful onto her tongue. “We only talked for, like, ten minutes,” she said. 

“I know, but—I thought—”  _that you hated him_ , he wanted to say, and Bri gathered what he couldn’t say aloud.

“I mean, I do,” she said, “but… he’s still my father, you know? And if he calls, of course I’m going to answer.”

Her father was the entire reason she was studying health management and policy—so that she could one day take over managing the chain of hospitals across the West Coast. It wasn’t until last year that he had decided instead to hand over management to his secondhand—a man recently out of university who had been apprenticing under him for a year before then. Mynes would take over the position that Briseis was meant to inherit. 

For several months, Bri ignored her family and stayed with Patroklos on university holidays. Patroklos wondered if he was overreacting, hating her father as much as he did. Bri had fashioned her entire schooling around one day managing her father’s business.

“I know you must think I’m weak,” she sighed.

“No, it isn’t that,” he promised. “I just don’t understand it, I guess. I’ve never been close with my father.”

“Right, but isn’t it odd? That I would continue indulging the person who ruined my future?” she asked.

Patroklos grimaced. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“It’s repulsive—I know it is—but unlike you, I grew  _up_ with a loving family. They have been continuously encouraging me until now and I feel like this one fuckup isn’t an accurate representation of who they’ve been to me until now,” she said, shaking her head with a sigh. She looked out over the stone ledge separating them from the lower campus, closer to the ocean. She lowered her eyes to the gelato and lifted another scoop to her mouth. “It almost feels like something happened. Not me, perhaps, but maybe something with Mynes.”

“Do you think they were paid off?”

“God, no, I can’t imagine that,” she confessed. “My family’s well-off, but they aren’t frugal. They wouldn’t sell the company to someone who isn’t family.”

“So are you just assuming it has something to do with Mynes?” Patroklos asked, and she leant back groaning, kicking her feet out from beneath the bench.

She shouted in annoyance and cried, “I don’t know! I don’t know—but what I  _do_ know is that my father wouldn’t give it to Mynes unless he had a good reason. Maybe Mynes has something over him that I don’t know about.”

“I suppose you won’t know unless you ask the guy,” Patroklos said. Bri looked to him, but he was already delving back into his gelato. 

They sat together for an hour talking about nonsensical things before they grew antsy and began a long walk around campus. Evening started to roll in, bringing the chill of the ocean to its peak. The weight of homework started ringing in his ears as he checked the time on his phone. He had Sunday to work on it all, but it was better to start early than late. He walked Bri to her apartment before then, and left after a long, eager hug. 

“We should study together tomorrow,” she said. “Would you want to come by tomorrow morning?”

“Sure, that sounds good,” he said.

“Text me when you get home?”

“Yeah, of course. Goodnight, Bri.” He stepped away with a wave and started down the long, straight street heading north up the coast. 

Somewhere in the middle between Bri’s apartment and his own, the street lights flickered on. It was quiet all except for the constant lull of the waves in the distance, and the breeze coursing through the trees. Leaves rustled overhead, and he tugged his sweatshirt closer, bringing his coat hood over his ears. He watched lights turn on past apartment blinds, and people walk amongst university buildings with long, inky shadows curling around them.

He climbed the hill up to the main campus and arrived at his bus stop. He stood beneath the stop awning and pulled out his bus card for when it arrived. The stop was across the street from frat row—all those elaborate architecture ranging from gothic to half-timber houses, made of stone or brick, with pillared porches and wide stone fences topped with gargoyles. 

He could hear music from far down the road, and he stepped out of the bus stop to look.  _The party’s going on already_ , he mused, glancing the other way and back again to where flashing pink and blue lights radiated from the front window and out onto the lawn. People were dancing out on the grass, playing beer pong behind the fence. Their laughter and loud, drunken voices carried down to where Patroklos began to fester in the guilt of never having texted Achilles.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and popped off the case. The slip of paper fell to the concrete, and he picked it up, crouched outside of the bus stop. He held it still as he typed in Achilles’ number.

When his phone asked to save it as a contact, he accepted and wrote in Achilles’ name in. 

He barely got out the first word of his apology when he groaned at the memory of Achilles in the coffee shop. It was so vivid in his mind, his heart ached from kicking up its speed, remembering how Achilles’ attention thrilled him. 

The bus’ headlights flooded the stop, and soon, the breaks screeched beside the curb. When the door opened, the wheels hissed, lowering the platform down to the curb. Patroklos rose and watched several students exit before placing his bus pass in his open phone case before snapping it back into place. 

He followed the crowd of students heading north, towards Pilam.


	3. Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

 

At the front door of the frat, Patroklos was met with a line of students waiting to get in. As he entered the foyer, holding the door for the next person, he found a table at the end of the line where two Pilam guys asked for their names and stamped visitors on the hand if they showed up on the list. 

When Patroklos was next, he approached the table and said, “Uh… Patroklos Menoetidis?” 

The guy raised an eyebrow at him before turning his eyes down to the list. As he flipped through the pages, a moment of sheer panic ruptured in Patroklos’ chest. What if Achilles never  _did_ put his name on the list?  _Well, I suppose that would say what he really thought of me_ , he mused, biting his lip as he watched the guy drag his finger down the page and stop halfway down.

“Alright. Got it. Twenty-one?”

“No.”

“Alright. Then you’re good. You can get your stamp there,” he said, gesturing to the girl standing beside him at the table. She smiled at Patroklos as he held his hand out. She rolled the stamp in ink and pressed it to the back of his palm. 

“Have fun,” she said, meeting his eyes with a wink as he passed. 

The foyer stretched forward, forking at the end with a curved staircase and an archway towards a dimly lit room strobed with flashing, colorful lights. Patroklos’ chest thrummed to the beat of the music, and the bass settled deep in his stomach where he forgot to panic about everything else around him. Eyes light and head even lighter, he stepped out onto the wood flooring in the living room where a crowd of students gathered, bouncing and shaking the world around him.

In blips of white light, he skirted around the edges of the room where people lined the wood-paneled walls nursing beers and swaying to the music. He cross the room, scanning the crowd as he went before disappearing through a beaded curtain blocking the kitchen. 

Outside of the flashing lights, the world caught up to him. He swayed forward and stepped out of the archway to avoid people coming through. He flattened his back to the side of the refrigerator, and looked down a narrow corridor where he saw a familiar, bulky guy leaning into one of the bedrooms with his hand clasped to the top of the doorframe. Patroklos passed him, avoiding the shape of Ajax as he pointed in and said, “Dude, no, that’s too much. Cut it in half.”

Patroklos glanced around Ajax as he walked by, and saw a guy sitting at a table filled with girls and a tray of brownies between them. The guy raised the knife with an annoyed look and said, “Then it’s not worth the money—”

_Pot brownies?_ Patroklos wondered, turning away and walking off to the next section of the house. 

He wound up following a crew of girls dressed in crop tops and jean shorts down a flight of stairs. The air turned cool, damp, and smelled distinctly of freshly poured concrete. The narrow hallway was lit by a single, exposed bulb, and it illuminated closed bedroom doors down to where the basement opened up into a… makeshift bar. 

Patroklos walked passed it without a care or even a glance. He was never an alcohol-drinker and didn’t plan to be that night, and so without that as a distraction, he managed to spy someone he  _did_ recognize.

Tucked away in a corner, sat atop a ground freezer, was Odysseus and Diomedes. The instant Patroklos saw them, he snuck down the corridor and hid himself in the gap before the front stairwell. There were no lights in this narrow room—aside from the Christmas lights strung up across the basement outside of his hiding spot. If Odysseus was down there, then there was a good chance Achilles was, too. He wasn’t sure how much help Achilles would be in preventing his death, but it was a decent shot.

Before Patroklos could manage to muster up enough courage (he was approximately at 5%), he caught Achilles’ name on Diomedes’ lips:

“So do you think Achilles’  _new friend_ is gonna come?”

“I told Agamemnon to text me if Patroklos shows up. So far he hasn’t shown,” Odysseus said. Patroklos’ amygdala started hyperventilating at the sound of that, but before it could pick flight, Odysseus sighed and took a swig of his beer before saying, with ingrained resentment, “You know, for a kid who  _grew up_ with Thetis as a  _mom_ , you’d think he’d be a little more cynical about relationships.”

“What the fuck does that say about your mom then?” Diomedes laughed, only to cough painfully when Odysseus punched him in the chest. “Okay, uncalled for!”

“I’m just saying that when a parent tries to repress their child’s optimism, it generally works out in their favor. Achilles was a recipe for pessimism. If he could befriend the planet he would.”

“You know…” Diomedes said, swaying his drink to and fro as he leant back on his hand, tipping his head to the side to look at Odysseus’ raw annoyance. “Some might say Thetis was the recipe for Achilles being a extrovert. If he couldn’t find love there, he’d find it elsewhere.”

“Yeah, and it’ll fuck with his focus,” he sighed. “One second he’ll be running for the ball and the next he trips over himself because one of the guys distracted him. You know I sense Achilles' gay heart beating faster when he's with that new kid.”

Patroklos stared ahead at the paneled walls, and just when he thought he was in the clear, a pair of footsteps approached. He flattened himself against the wall beside the archway, and watched as Odysseus and Diomedes walked by and up the stairs. He spun around the corner before they could see him upon the curve of the staircase as Diomedes said, “If he’s gonna fuck the new kid, you can’t exactly cockblock him forever.”

“I can and I will. It’s why I sent Penny on him—she’s got him locked up in his room for the night,” Odysseus said.

Diomedes laughed, “Yeah, I guess the last thing we need is a lovestruck idiot trying to catch the kickoff when Patroklos is on the sidelines.”

Patroklos waited until they disappeared to the ground floor before releasing the tension in his shoulders. He turned around and headed back through the bar room to the back stairwell on the opposite side of the house. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the funny things that happened to his heart when he eavesdropped on Odysseus and Diomedes. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of being on someone’s hit list, or maybe it was because he was far too intrigued by Achilles to bother staying away.

Patroklos escaped to the ground floor where he hunted down Ajax in the pot brownie room. Ajax was on the ground beside the table, his size making him entirely capable of cutting brownies from the height he was at. The girls all looked in fascination as he divvied up the batch with perfect precision. Patroklos watched from the doorway as Ajax lifted a neatly trimmed square of a brownie, and the girls all clapped. The guy who  _had_ been cutting simmered in anger at being shown up.

The guy noticed Patroklos and pointed him out to Ajax. “Dude, I think there’s someone here for you.”

Ajax stood and lifted the brownie with him, saying, “Hey, you here for a brown—eeeey… DPT student…”

The room sucked in a communal breath as they waited for the inevitable—the Stallions PT student ratting on what the players did in their free time. And, by that logic, the remainder of the visitors at the party. 

“I’m not here to bust you,” Patroklos said, and the entire room let out a collective sigh of relief. “I’m just wondering where Achilles’ room is.”

“Oh, yeah, sure—if you pinkie promise not to tell,” Ajax said, holding out a pinkie the size of Patroklos’ goddamn middle finger.

Patroklos eyed it before hooking his own pinkie onto Ajax’s. They shook on it. Following the agreement, Ajax passed him the brownie and pointed up. “If you take the stairs down the hall, it’ll be the last door to the left.”

“Thank you!” Patroklos said, and took the brownie without thinking. He hadn’t realized he was holding it until he was on the next floor. He hesitated at the end of the hall and sniffed it. He recoiled in an instant, and held it far from his nose as he continued the walk to Achilles’ room.

He knocked on the door with the brownie at arms length, and this was precisely how he was found when the door opened, and Patroklos faced—

—the most beautiful girl he’d ever  _seen_ .

They both looked at each other in shock, and Patroklos suddenly wondered where the hell he was and how he came to be there. She blinked back at him, jaw dropped until she snapped it shut and lowered her golden eyelids at him. She had a set of thick, defined eyebrows that arced in obvious skepticism.

“And who might you be?” she asked, leaning up against the doorframe with arms crossed. Her shift put more of the room on display, as well as the sight of Achilles reclined back on the bed, his crutches leant up against the wall. 

“Patroklos! You made it!” Achilles cried, arms thrown up in the air. 

Patroklos smiled, and turned to the girl, who relaxed upon hearing the name. She lowered her arms and gestured with a sweep of her hand. A smile hinted on her lips as she laid a hand on his wrist and pulled the brownie closer. 

“Where did you find this gem?” she asked, tucking a strand of tightly curled hair behind her ear. She had her hair braided around in a halo, topped with a gold ribbon in the back. Patroklos could hardly believe a  _college girl_ could look so put together. In fact, she was even wearing a ring on her left ring finger. 

As Patroklos staggered in, disoriented, she shut the door behind him and pulled him over to the bed. “I… Well, Ajax gave it to me,” he confessed. “I don’t do edibles, so you two can have it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t either. Penelope, it’s all yours,” Achilles said, and she grabbed it without hesitation. 

As she hopped onto the bed with a bounce, Achilles dragged himself over by his arms and hands, an ice pack settled on his ankle where his tendon tore. The moment he was close enough, he dragged Patroklos onto the mattress and strangled him with a hug. 

Patroklos was used to hugging Bri, but practically strangers? He sat there and tried his best to relax to the sensation of Achilles leaning on him from behind, his arms tight around Patroklos’ neck. He felt Achilles’ breath on the curls of his hair as he said, “You never texted me.”

“I told you my stance on texting,” Patroklos said. He pushed himself higher on the bed and turned around, breaking the hug so he could see that Achilles was still smiling wide. His smile lines included perfect dimples that punctuated the extent of his happiness. Patroklos couldn’t help but smile back in return. “Have you found a decent owl?”

“I found one on Craigslist, but I don’t think it’s a messenger owl. Does that count?” Achilles said, and Patroklos giggled, pushing himself back against the headboard with a hand over his eyes. 

“I can’t tell if you’re serious,” he said, laughing. He lowered his hand when Achilles held up his laptop, open to a Craigslist post with a  _caged owl_ . “Oh my God, people sell animals on that site?”

Achilles moved up and settled in beside him, laptop on hand, and ankle iced. Penny was finishing off the brownie with a content sigh and chased it down with water. She shook her head and said, “ _Wow_ . That was strong. I swear that tastes worse than Aggy’s last batch.”

Achilles tipped his head back against the wall and glanced over at Patroklos. “Agamemnon is our resident junky. He’s—”

“Number 23. Linebacker, I know,” Patroklos said, turning back to Penny. “Do all pot brownies taste terribly?”

“Oh, yes, definitely. The stronger it is, the worse it is. I wonder how much they put in this,” she mused aloud. She brushed her hands off on her jeans before adding, “It will take some time to digest. Now, where were we?”

Penny looked expectantly to Achilles, who startled, realizing that he was being summoned. Patroklos looked between them curiously before asking, “Where… were we before I showed up?”

Achilles swung back into motion, shaking his head vigorously. He clutched his laptop to his chest and said, muttering to the side, “You wouldn’t be interested.”

“You don’t know me,” Patroklos said. “You don’t know what I’m interested in.”

“Very forward,” Penny said, and Patroklos turned sharply to her. She winked at him as she leant back against the adjacent wall with a grin. She nodded to Achilles. “He was just playing the ukulele for me. I love listening to him play.”

“It’s because Odysseus has me on house arrest,” he said, only to hesitate. He pouted his lips and turned his eyes to the ceiling in deep thought. “Well, more like  _room arrest_ , but regardless I wish I was down there with everyone else,” Achilles added with a harrumph. 

Penny reached forward to shake his good foot. “And I am here to  _enforce that rule_ ,” she cooed. She reached down off of the bed and grasped the neck of the ukulele sitting there. She held it out to him with firm determination, and a bright, encouraging smile on her face. “Now come on!”

Patroklos crossed his legs at the ankles. He could still feel the rattle of the music from downstairs resonating in the walls, but the music was muffled enough for the first chord to strike and reverberate through Patroklos’ ribcage. After that one test, Achilles dropped the instrument to his lap with a groan.

“Penny, don’t make me,” he whined.

“Can I try?” Patroklos asked. He had no intention of  _seriously_ playing—the last time he tried an instrument, it was the piano, and even  _that_ turned out poorly. 

Achilles stared at him until Penny yelped in excitement and urged Patroklos to take the ukulele. Achilles passed it to him and watched as Patroklos settled the instrument up in his arms with a frown. 

“Wow, okay, I was not expecting it to be this small,” he hummed to himself, dragging the pad of his thumb down the soprano, nylon strings. “I’ve never even played a guitar before. How do you play a chord? Is this a chord?”

Just as he expected, Achilles brought his hands over Patroklos’ fingers and moved them to the correct positions. He pushed down the thrill in his chest that sent blood to his head, and followed through with a slow strike of the chords. Achilles shifted his fingers, pressing them to the strings so that they left indents on the pads of his fingers. 

He urged Patroklos to keep strumming, but his wrists were starting to hurt. “What song is this?” he asked. 

“Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You by Frankie Valli,” Achilles answered, and promptly swiped the ukulele up into his own arms. “Here, I’ll play it for you.”

Patroklos wasn’t entirely sure his plan backfired, but whatever the case, he got Achilles to play for him. He tucked his hands together on his lap and tried to rub away the tingling sensation Achilles’ fingers left on his own. It was impossible, and it only seemed to grow as Achilles hopped into the chorus.

“ _Pardon… the way that I stare—_

_There’s nothin’ else to compare—_

_The sight of you—makes me weak._

_There are no words left to speak…_ ”

Patroklos hadn’t expected to hear his voice the way it came out—sweet and airy, contained in this one room for the three of them. Patroklos looked to Penny for some sort of explanation, but Penny had her eyes closed, sweeping her hands away and together again like the conductor of an orchestra. 

He turned back to Achilles, who smiled on the beat between verses. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled before he was singing, “ _You’re just to good to be true… can’t take my eyes—off of you_ .”

Patroklos knew it was a death sentence, but after the song ended, he asked, “Do you know any others?”

Achilles sprung into his own rendition of  _Close To You_ by the Carpenters. He swayed to the music as if he wasn’t the one performing it, and chimed in with the lyrics along the way.

“ _On the day that you were born, the angels got together and decided to create a dream—come—true…_

_So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair, and put a starlight in your eyes—so—blue…_

_That—is—why… all the boys in town_ …”

Penny threw her arms up and complained, “Achilles! You can’t change the lyrics!”

“Tailoring to my audience,” Achilles interjected and dove back in with dramatic vigor that just sent Penny onto the comforter laughing, and Achilles soon after.

She climbed up beside Patroklos at the edge of the bed and swung an arm around his shoulders. He tipped his head back against the wall and asked, “Wait, so are you actually dating Odysseus?”

She held her left hand up, putting the ring on display. “Yup. We’re engaged, but it won’t happen for a while. Our families offered to help but… I don’t know. I want to get settled somewhere first before getting into all that,” she confessed. She tipped her head against his and added in a childish voice, “And  _he_ has told me  _so much_ about you already.”

She pinched his cheek, and he brushed her away, laughing. “I almost didn’t come because I thought he would bodyslam me into the concrete,” he confessed.

“Oh, yes, that’s Odey. Tough as can be. He thinks Achilles is easily distracted.”

“Am too,” he said, no shame. “But right now, there’s no harm in making new friends because it’s not like I can do much at practice now.”

Just as Patroklos readied a response, a knock on the door interrupted them. The three of them froze. Penny thrust her arm out to block Patroklos before thinking better of it—it was impossible to hide him out in the open.

“Maybe it isn’t Odysseus,” she whispered.

The person tried the handle, but by some miracle, Penny remembered to lock the door. “ _Oh, come on,_ ” they heard, and despite how muffled the voice was, it was unmistakably Odysseus. 

As he knocked again and called for Penny and Achilles, Penny lunged to her feet. “Alright, you two—under the bed,” she hissed at them.

“What? No, just Patroklos,” Achilles whispered back. 

“Okay— _under the bed, Patroklos_ ,” she said, tearing him off the comforter and shoving him to his knees. Disoriented, he let himself be manhandled under the bed frame as Penny called cheerfully to her fiancé, “Just a minute, sweetie!”

She threw the comforter down over the gap so that Patroklos was completely obscured from view. She then rushed to the door and unlocked it, leaving Odysseus to open it himself as she wandered back to the bed and dropped down, legs holding the comforter down over Patroklos.


	4. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patroclus stays the night and Odysseus finds out...

“Hey—how’s the party?” Penny asked. The shadow of her feet secured the blanket over the gap under the bed where Patroklos hid from Odysseus’ shadow stepping closer.

Patroklos clasped his hand over his mouth as he watched Odysseus’ shadow approach the silhouette of Penny’s legs dangling from the bed. “It’s fine. I missed you, though,” he said, and Patroklos could have laughed. Who was this man, and how was it possible for him to sound so soft? 

He heard Achilles fake-gag, and Odysseus separated with the audible pop of his lips leaving hers. Penny laughed giddily, tipping back onto the bed. Though Patroklos couldn’t see it, she had reached over and squeezed her hand around Achilles’ cheeks. She shook his head to and fro and said, “You are so cute—!”

“What did you give her?” Odysseus demanded, his brusque transition back to his usual self had Patroklos shaking in fear of what he’d do to Achilles.

Penny (gods bless her) started cooing to Odysseus, “Aw, baby, you look so cute when you pout like that.”

“I am not pouting,” Odysseus seethed, but Penny grasped his face with both hands and gave him a shake. He slapped her hands away. “Stop that. I’m trying to be serious.”

“And. So. Am. I.” she teased, punctuating each word with a squish of his cheeks. She pet her hands through his hair and said, “I just had one little brownie, honey, it’s okay. Sh… it’s okay, baby…”

“I’m going to strangle him,” Odysseus said.

“You will do no such thing,” she said, holding him tightly to her chest so any other words were then smothered against her breasts. “Achilles and I were just playing the ukulele.”

“I know—I heard, and it sounded romantic so I came to investigate,” he said, but with his mouth against her chest, the words came out all jumbled. 

Meanwhile, Achilles yawned dramatically and played a few chords on the ukulele. In a teasing voice, he sang with a lilt, “ _It’s because—I’m a romantic—guy…_ ”

“No, stop that,” Odysseus said, prying himself away from Penny’s breasts to snatch the ukulele away. “The last thing you need right now is a distraction. You’re supposed to be  _not moving_ and focusing on  _getting better_ .”

“The best cure is love,” Achilles said.

Odysseus jabbed a finger in Achilles direction and stabbed him in the cheek with it. Achilles tried to bite it as Odysseus seethed, “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. You make me sick.” 

Achilles grabbed for Odysseus’ wrist and bared his teeth, fighting Odysseus every turn of the way it took to stick Odysseus’ finger in his mouth and bite it. “Stop—fucking— _stop biting my finger!_ Ew, gross, he licked it!”

“Achilles,” Penny warned. He immediately obeyed. 

Odysseus pried himself out of their arms so that he could step away and shake out his hand. He wiped it on his jeans with a disgusted sneer on his face. “Animal,” he said, and marched for the door. He swung it open and disappeared out into the hallway.

Several moments later, the blankets lifted from the gap under the bed, and Achilles lowered himself, upside down, to face Patroklos still curled up under the mattress. Achilles beamed at him before swinging back up with a relieved, “Well, that got rid of him.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Penny huffed. “You bit his goddamn finger.”

“It had to be done.”

Patroklos rolled out from under the bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment. He felt numb from the neck down, and so he waited until his heart was ready to return to the world. Eventually, he sat up and looked over to where Penny and Achilles were arguing about the ethics of biting a person’s finger. 

The night went on after Penny locked the door once more and shut off the lights. Achilles’ room was littered with Christmas lights, and the window against the far wall cast tungsten street lights through the curtains. Penny reached down to drag Patroklos onto the bed where Achilles played the ukulele. As the buzz from alcohol faded to exhaustion, each strum came in increasingly slow intervals, and he slumped further and further against the pillows where Patroklos and Penny laid side-by-side, eyes closed. 

Soon, Achilles was too tired to sing, and so the chords lifted crisp and clean and unaccompanied by his voice before long. He fell quiet with the ukulele cradled in his arms, eyes lidded and focused on nothing in particular. Patroklos turned to Penny, whose soft, but deep breaths suggested that exhaustion had knocked her clean out.

He turned to Achilles, who drummed his fingers idly on the wooden base of the ukulele. Achilles turned to him and said, “You can stay the night if you want.”

“Alright,” he whispered. His head felt so heavy, even on the pillow, that he wished he could lean it against Achilles’ sturdy shoulder. Instead, Achilles tipped his head onto Patroklos’ shoulder. 

It took a moment to overcome the intensity of his heart when it kicked up its pace against the exhaustion pulling at his limbs. He waited, and gingerly, lowered his cheek onto Achilles’ soft blonde hair. It was pulled back in a braid, and the loose strands tickled Patroklos’ neck as they fell asleep with the ukulele between them.

They slept through the sounds of the party ending, and Odysseus stopping by the room to wake Penny. He was stopped by the locked door, though, and when there came no answer, he left them be until morning when Patroklos’ phone went off in his coat pocket.

The vibration startled him awake, and likewise, both Achilles and Penny. He pushed himself up to his elbow, and cursed when Achilles’ head fell on the pillows with a groan. “Shit, sorry,” he said.

He shifted and felt where Achilles’ ice pack had melted at the bottom of the mattress. He reached down and plucked it up, tossing it down onto the rug beside the bed. Penny rubbed her eyes and muttered, “What time is it…?”

Patroklos checked his phone and said, “Almost ten—shit! I need to go—”

“What? No—pancakes…” Achilles whined, clutching at the back of Patroklos’ coat as he tried to escape the bed for his shoes. 

“I have a study date with Bri in, like, five minutes,” he said, plucking Achilles’ fingers off of his coat. He rolled off the bed with a thud! and sat on the rug so he could shove his feet into his boots and lace them. 

“Can I come?” Achilles asked, flopping over the side of the bed. Patroklos glanced down at Achilles’ swollen ankle. He should have gotten fresh ice before falling asleep. 

“You should have your boot on,” Patroklos said instead. He looked down at his shoes so he could focus on tying them. “The torn sections can’t reconnect if they aren’t pushed together by the plantar flexion.”

“I love it when you talk medical to me, but I’m serious,” Achilles said. “Take me with you… Please?  _Pleasepleasepleaseplease—_ ”

“Fine! Just get your boot on,” Patroklos laughed. He grabbed his messenger bag and slung the strap over one shoulder. 

Achilles kicked his good leg out with a victorious, “Yes!” Penny groaned in annoyance, a hand to her head as Achilles shimmied past her and maneuvered over to where he’d left his boot on the ground beside the bed. 

Patroklos wound up helping him strap it back on—loosely, to make room for where his ankle had swelled. He then passed Achilles’ his water bottle and topped it with two pills from the painkiller bottle on the nightstand. Achilles popped them in and followed them down with a swig of water.

He handed Achilles the crutches, and soon, they were unlocking the bedroom door. “Bye Pen!” Achilles chimed as he crossed the threshold.

“Take care of him for me, Patroklos,” she moaned against the pillows, still half-asleep . Her hair was in a gnarled disarray now that her braids had loosened with sleep. Patroklos held up a thumbs up before following Achilles out of the door.

He went down the steps first, a hand raised to prevent Achilles from falling on his crutches. Achilles muttered that he was fine, but Patroklos wasn’t about to take any chances as they reached the second half of the stairs leading to the ground floor. 

Achilles waddled out onto the first floor with Patroklos insisting he raise his boot a little higher. “No, I don’t want to,” Achilles whined, but Patroklos was adamant, and in the midst of showing him the proper height at which to hold his leg, he paused, eyes catching on the figure standing at the end of the hall.

Achilles froze as well, turning to look back at where none other than Odysseus stood with two plates of eggs distributed between his two hands. One of the forks slid from the lip of the plate and clattered to the floor. The rage swelled in his face under the color red, and Patroklos involuntarily yelped an apology before squeezing past Achilles for the back door. 

Achilles hobbled after him with a shriek as Odysseus cried, “ _PATROKLOS!?_ ”

“Go-go-go-go—” Achilles cried, followed by demanding a sharp left to the back door. Patroklos pushed it open and held it still as Achilles waddled out and down the steps with Odysseus on his heels. The instant Achilles was out, Patroklos slammed the door in Odysseus’ face and held the handle still with all the strength his adrenaline provided.

Thankfully, though, Odysseus had two plates in his hands, and no way to open the door. And, so, Odysseus watched, horrified, through the door window as Achilles grabbed Patroklos by the back of his jacket and dragged him out onto the driveway. Patroklos mouthed, “I’m sorry!” to Odysseus before turning completely and taking off for the sidewalk.

They crossed Pilam’s fencing and passed the neighboring frats with relieved sighs. Patroklos put a hand to his racing heart and laughed, glancing back at Pilam to ensure that they weren’t being pursued. 

“Why doesn’t Odysseus want you hanging out with me?” he asked, turning back to Achilles.

Achilles scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Because I came to school for the Greek Stallions. It’s like trying to keep an extrovert rocket scientist from going out with friends so they can focus on their studies.”

“Rocket scientist, huh?” Patroklos laughed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask—What’s your major?”

“Sports statistician,” he said.

“Good with numbers?”

“More or less. I like music more, but at least this will help later on.”

“I don’t know. Music always helps,” Patroklos said. “Granted, you might not get as great of a job, but mentally and emotionally it always helps.”

“Sometimes I worry, though,” he said, and it drew Patroklos’ eyes over to where Achilles struck his crutches into the concrete and swung forward. He paused and turned back to Patroklos with a frown.

“That because… I’m here for football that everyone thinks lesser of me. Intellectually.”

“This is Pelion we’re talking about,” Patroklos countered, and Achilles shrugged as if it made no difference. “Honestly I don’t think people care. Do you want them to care?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet,” he confessed.

“If you decide, though, will your decision hinder your happiness? Will the pressure to perform better academically hinder your athletic performance?”

“I didn’t think I had to choose which to be better at.”

“Then you should stop thinking about yourself as the jack of all trades, master of none.” He clasped onto the strap of his bag and watched as Achilles considered this.

They approached the center of the main campus, and Patroklos made a point to let Bri know that he was going to be late. The instant he sent the text, loading dots bubbled up where she started typing her response. Phitha Library cafe.

“So who is this Bri? Did she come to the party last night?” Achilles asked.

“Oh, no. We had plans to, and then I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go, so we just canceled plans,” Patroklos explained.

“How do you know her?”

“Overlapping classes—when I was in undergrad,” he said.

“And you said you’re…”

“Twenty.”

Achilles whistled low and laughed. “Wow. So when did you start college?” he asked.

Patroklos sighed, thinking back to when his father kicked him out. “Well… I graduated high school a year and a half early. Skipped a grade in elementary school, hence… that whole thing. I’m glad it happened when it did, truthfully. My father kicked me out before I was eighteen and I wound up in Pelion dorms for the summer after I graduated.”

“Why did your father kick you out?”

“Many reasons, I think,” he confessed, bringing a hand to his chin. “ _Well,_ two main reasons. One being that I think he resented my mother, and the other that he found out I…  _like men_ , and so I think he felt like I sabotaged him somehow.”

“I’m sorry, Patroklos,” Achilles said. Patroklos murmured something unintelligible under his breath, scuffing the heel of his boot against the brick walkway between buildings. As they approached the library doors, Achilles said, “I wish I could hold your hand, but I’m on crutches.”

“Worry about walking, geez, don’t worry about the state of my hand,” Patroklos said, and Achilles laughed. “I was actually worried Professor Chiron would think it irresponsible of me, going to Pilam. You  _are_ technically a patient of mine.”

“ _Technically,_ ” Achilles sang, swinging his foot forward up the step. “ _Literally_ , though, I’m Chiron’s patient. I would have found you cute regardless, though.”

Patroklos paused on the stairs so that when Achilles approached the door, he had to turn back around to find Patroklos standing there, staring at him. Achilles asked him what the matter was. “I just—” he started, only to think better of it. He shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone as open as you. Society kind of crushes that out of you by middle school.”

“What, you mean my lack of a filter?” he said. “I wouldn’t consider that a good thing. I’ve said plenty of stupid shit in front of Odysseus and gotten smacked for it.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that’s a matter to be considered, but it’s… refreshing. I like knowing what’s on everyones’ minds,” Patroklos confessed. 

A large factor in that preference happened to be because of his father’s expectations. His father had always assumed Patroklos knew what he was thinking, and when that wasn’t the case, he was punished for it. Life would have been so much easier if bullheaded men voiced what they wanted others to know.

Long Patroklos held the library cafe door open for Achilles, and precisely after they had left the Pilam driveway, a storm tore through Pi Lambda Phi in the vicious form of Odysseus hunting down Diomedes. 

Odysseus stormed down into the basement, and in the depths of the frat house, he abandoned the eggs on the floor and hammered his fist on Diomedes’ closed door. He shouted Diomedes’ name loud enough to wake the guy across the hall, who stepped out to tell Odysseus to shut the fuck up. Just as Odysseus turned to mouth off, Diomedes’ door opened.

“What the actual fuck do you want?” he seethed, shirtless and sporting nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs. They were Stallion blue, and did little to hide the hickeys on his abdomen.

Odysseus closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and released his anger in a short, sharp exhale. “Could you  _please_ get a goddamn shirt on, for the love of gods,” he hissed through clenched teeth. 

Diomedes rolled his eyes and backed into his room. He left the door open, and so Odysseus retrieved the extra plate of eggs and entered. Diomedes passed the tangled sheets of his bed, and were it not for the lack of blinds on the narrow window, Odysseus would have completely missed the blonde girl sprawled lazily out on the pillows. She straightened, sat up, and eyed the plate of food in his hands like a starved puppy. 

Dejectedly, he handed Penny’s plate over to the girl and topped it with his fork. 

Diomedes pulled a shirt on and asked, “So why am I getting dressed?”

“To follow Achilles,” he said. He picked at the toast on his plate and added, “I’d do it myself, but I have to take care of Penny. I think she was crossfaded last night.”

“Oh shit. But what’s the protocol?”

“Patroklos is with Achilles as we speak so you need to  _move your ass_ and get the fuck  _out there_ ,” Odysseus seethed, and thus was how Diomedes was kicked in the back out the front door and chased out of the gate by an hangry, hungover Odysseus. 

Diomedes slowed at the sidewalk and made sure to flip Odysseus off. Odysseus made a crude gesture from the porch before heading back inside and slamming the screen door behind him. Diomedes cursed under his breath as he stormed away, heading in the direction of where Achilles and Patroklos started for the campus. 

He caught up with them as they were entering the mall area, and it gave him enough coverage between buildings to hide until they entered the library cafe. It was then that Diomedes ran up to the door, out of sight, and snuck in was they were flocking to a table across the room. In a panic to hide, Diomedes ducked down the bathroom corridor and flattened himself back against the wall where he could hear Achilles’ voice rise up with an eager, “Bri! It’s nice to finally meet you!” which was promptly followed by, “Patroklos has only known you for three days…”

Diomedes peered around the corner to the main sitting area. Achilles moved to set his crutches off to the side, but Patroklos took them instead and leant them back against the wall behind the girl seated at the table. Diomedes barely managed to think,  _This whipped idiot_ , before every nerve in his brain short circuited at the same time. The sparks sent his heart rate speeding, and heat flushing to his face at the sight of  _the girl_ now sat between Achilles and Patroklos. 

Bri scowled at Achilles and turned an annoyed look onto her friend. Patroklos shrugged before extracting his laptop from his bag, placing it adjacent to her own. Her hair—her  _hair_ !—was formed with voluminous champaign curls that fell over her shoulder from a high pony. They cascaded from a deep caramel brown into a soft amber ombre and  _fuck_ , was Diomedes regretting the time he wasted on blondes before then or what? She had a set of thick brown eyebrows that any other girl would  _die_ to manicure, and she held them up in critically at whatever Achilles just said to her. 

Diomedes was  _pining_ to be judged by this woman, and his feet were already moving before he could stop himself.


	5. Arizona Heat

“Oh dear gods,” Bri moaned, elbow on the table, dropping her head onto her hand. Patroklos looked to her, and then to where her attention focused on a very familiar Stallion linebacker heading in their direction. Before Patroklos could explain himself, Bri slammed her fist on the table and cried, “Did you invite the  _entire_ football team?! You realize I actually have a paper to write.”

“Yeah, and so do I,” he insisted.

“Diomedes!” Achilles cheered, arms in the air. “I was just about to buy everyone a coffee!”

“I take back what I said—Achilles can stay for as long as it takes for him to buy me a coffee,” Bri declared.

Patroklos stared up at Diomedes. The man approached the table and lowered a hand onto the surface, but not without accepting a high-five from Achilles. “So, let’s just say I changed my mind about ratting you two out to Odysseus,” Diomedes said, and Patroklos caught his sigh when he realized that Diomedes wasn’t finished, “ _if_ I get to join the three of you.”

Achilles clasped his hands together in excitement, and turned his brilliant smile onto Patroklos. Meanwhile, Bri rolled her eyes and said, “Please, by all means, it’s not like I have a paper to write.”

Diomedes sat down, grinning, clearly pleased with himself. Patroklos looked between them before settling on Bri when she grabbed her phone and started typing furiously onto it. As she typed, Achilles asked his teammate how the night went outside his own solitary confinement with Penny. 

“Fine I think. Odysseus is taking care of Penny right now. Some people crashed in the living room, which isn’t an issue,” he said. 

Patroklos’ phone buzzed on the table. After a split second of hesitation, Bri reached over and pinched him on the arm. “Ouchie!” he cried, frowning at her. She jabbed her finger in the direction of his phone.

 

(10:34)  **BRI:** _WHY DID YOU INVITE THEM WE HAVE ACTUAL SHIT WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING ON_

(10:35)  **PAT:** _Achilles wanted to meet you…_

(10:35)  **BRI:** _And you BELIEVED HIM?!_

(10:35)  **PAT:** _He isn’t actually that bad. Cut him some slack._

(10:37)  **BRI:** _I will NOT ‘cut him some slack’, alright? He’s honestly just going to distract you from your studies. I know you, Patty, and I also know that SHINY NEW FRIENDS are actually just piles of SHIT covered in GOLD LEAF._

 

“I’m gonna go order,” Diomedes interrupted. Patroklos was still staring at his text, and so Bri turned a charmed facade up to their newest acquaintance. Diomedes’ lips pulled into a slow smile. “Anything for the lady?”

“Yes, please, a blended mocha topped with a heaping amount of  _fuck you_ ,” she said.

“She means whipped cream,” Patroklos sighed, lowering his head to his hand where her message still glowed on his phone. “Anything with espresso will do for me.”

Diomedes rose an eyebrow at them and said nothing as he retrieved his wallet and headed to the cashier line. Patroklos watched after him before drawing his attention to where Bri stared, a flat look on her face. 

“He gives me the creeps,” she said.

“Who? Diomedes?” Achilles said, and it was clearly the wrong thing to say. Bri sneered at him and aggressively started typing away on her computer so that she would have an excuse to claim she didn’t hear what he had to say next. “Diomedes is harmless. If… harmless means dating a slew of women just this past year…”

Patroklos sighed. “She doesn’t want to hear that.”

“I’m just saying that I don’t agree with it,” he insisted.

“Regardless, you’re still friends with him,” Bri said. “If you don’t agree with something, you should speak up.”

Achilles laughed, and it started out genuine, and then turned borderline mocking before he said, “I am  _not_ friends with him,” he said. “ _Odysseus_ is, and I’m friends with Odysseus.”

“And I can’t imagine what that says about Odysseus, having a friend who doesn’t respect women,” Bri said. 

“Is it true that Odysseus and Penny are engaged?” Patroklos asked. 

Achilles instantly perked up, any memory of Bri having insulted Odysseus fading by now. “Oh! Yes, Penelope’s such a sweetheart. They’re good for each other—they even out,” he said, splaying his hand out on the table. 

Patroklos felt a consist paranoia all through their study session the moment Diomedes returned. Through the course of two  _dreadful_ hours, he witnessed dozens of murderous, one-sided glares that consisted of Bri peering over the edge of her laptop, eyes narrowed, nose scrunched up, her targets set on any bad move on Diomedes’ part. Diomedes, though, seemed content reclined back in his seat, his ankle over one knee, and his phone in one hand. When he caught Bri’s eye, his response consisted of three possibilities: 1) Smiling cheerfully, 2) Winking devilishly, or 3) Saying something damning like, “See something you like?”

“Yeah, the fact that you’re five years away from permanent brain damage,” she said. 

“Excuse me?” Diomedes said, straightening his seat. He even went so far as to put both feet on the ground.

“Dear gods, Briseis, don’t—” Patroklos started, but Bri was already going off.

“With the amount of concussions football players see in their lifetime, I don’t see how you should be functioning right now. Linebackers especially.”

“Pardon me, but I don’t think we’ve met before, and you clearly don’t know a thing about me,” Diomedes said. He perched an arm on the table, and dropped his chin onto his hand with a charming smile. “I’ve never sustained a concussion, baby. Though I find your concern sweet.”

Patroklos grimaced. He felt himself dying inside just hearing it, and he turned his pained eyes to Bri, who clenched her teeth, shook her head, and sighed down at her paper. 

Achilles reached across the table at some point, discreetly, and without Patroklos’ knowing. Next thing he knew, thirty minutes after Bri’s last attempted eye-murder, his phone buzzed beside him on the table.

 

(12:24)  **ACHI <3: ** _Okay I don’t want you to think I’m stupid so I’m just gonna say it_

(12:24)  **ACHI <3: ** _I KNOW BRI DOESN’T LIKE ME_

(12:25)  **ACHI <3: ** _There, I said it_

(12:25)  **PAT:** _Don’t take it personally_

(12:26)  **PAT:** _Bri and I LITERALLY founded the first Feminist Club on campus_

(12:27)  **ACHI <3: ** _Sexy. Can I join?_

(12:28)  **PAT:** _University club rules dictates that we can’t exclude members without just cause_

(12:28)  **PAT:** _In other words you can totally join, but we don’t run it anymore_

(12:29)  **PAT:** _When I graduated the first time we had to give my administration role to someone else_

(12:30)  **ACHI <3: ** _You know I am ALL about this Leadership Patroklos bullshit tell me what to DO BABY_

 

 

Patroklos slapped his phone down and said aloud, “Oh my God, Achilles, you have no filter.”

Diomedes drummed his hands on the table and exclaimed, “ _Yes!_ Thank you, Patroklos.  _Gods_ , I’m glad someone’s finally said it.”

Achilles was reclined back in his seat, and pulled a gum pack from his pocket with a smirk. He plucked out a stick of gum and stuck it in his mouth. He topped this all off with a wink before saying, directed at Diomedes, “Hey Dio, what say you to joining a feminist club?”

Diomedes immediately snorted, laughed, and looked sparingly at Bri before doing a double take. She was staring at Achilles in shock, and then to Diomedes with an expect expression. Patroklos would have laughed had he not been so nervous for Bri’s reaction. He covered his mouth with his hand as Diomedes shut his mouth and swallowed hard.

“I… I guess? Yeah, it sounds interesting,” he said, sharing a look with Achilles before looking back to Bri for approval.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Then you’ll be sorely disappointed that I gave up leadership with Patroklos graduated,” she said with a dramatic, “Ooh… shucks. Better luck next time. Hey, Patty, I gotta split. Wanna walk me to my bus stop?”

The transition was so jarring that Patroklos didn’t say anything until Bri went ahead and snapped his laptop shut and stuffed it into his messenger bag. She clapped him on the shoulder and said, “ _Let’s go_ . Nice meeting you Achilles!”

Patroklos staggered to his feet, and Bri immediately grabbed him by the hand and spun him round towards the exit. He looked over his shoulder at where Achilles tried to stand, but Diomedes reminded him that he wasn’t supposed to be putting pressure on his foot. Patroklos waved his apology before Bri dragged him out the door and far,  _far_ away from Achilles and Diomedes.

 

_10.21.18_

(16:46)  **ACHI <3: ** _Could I give you Penelope’s number?_

(16:55)  **PAT:** _Sure. Why?_

(16:56)  **ACHI <3: ** _She wants to make a group chat :D_

(16:57)  **PAT:** _With me? Why?_

(16:57)  **ACHI <3: ** _You left quite the impression on her when she was fucked up and high ;P_

(16:58)  **ACHI <3: ** _And also she wants to relinquish herself in your eyes._

(17:00)  **PAT:** _She was fine. I thought it was really sweet of her to distract Odysseus for me_

(17:00)  **ACHI <3: ** _Yeah she’s a peach :)_

(17:03)  **ACHI <3: ** _So group chat?_

(17:05)  **PAT:** _Sure?_

 

_10.21.18 —_ **_PATROKLOS_ ** _has joined SEXY BALLS_

(17:06)  **ACHI:** _I bring a sexy PT boy_

(17:07)  **PAT:** _What_

(17:07)  **PEN:** _AW CUTIE!_

(17:08)  **ODY:** **ODYSSEUS** HAS BLOCKED  **PATROKLOS** FROM  _SEXY BALLS_ GROUP CHAT

(17:08)  **PEN:** **PENELOPE** HAS UNBLOCKED  **PATROKLOS** FROM  _SEXY BALLS_ GROUP CHAT

(17:08)  **PEN:** _ODYSSEUS._

(17:09)  **ODY:** _PENNY._

(17:09)  **ODY:** _I TOLD YOU NOT TO INVITE HIM_

(17:10)  **PAT:** _I could just leave_

(17:10)  **ACHI:** _D:_

(17:12)  **PAT:** _Okay fine._

(17:12)  **ACHI:** _:D_

(17:13)  **DIO:** _OK Patroklos, be straight with me_

(17:14)  **PAT:** _Unlikely but I can try_

(17:14)  **PEN:** _hehe :)_

(17:16)  **DIO:** _Do I stand a chance dating Bri_

(17:16)  **ODY:** _He means fucking_

(17:17)  **DIO:** _ODYSSEUS YOU AREN’T HELPING_

(17:19)  **AGA:** _Who is Dio fucking now?_

(17:20)  **ACHI:** _Patroklos’ best friend_

(17:21)  **ACHI:** _The stunningly bitter Briseis_

(17:22)  **AGA:** _Sounds fake_

(17:24)  **DIO:** _FUCK OFF. PATROKLOS WHAT’S THE CONSENSUS_

(17:26)  **PAT:** _You stand no chance_

(17:26)  **PAT:** _Sorry_

(17:27)  **ODY:** _Fuck, stone cold dude_

 

(17:28)  **AJA:** _Yikes buddy_

(17:30)  **DIO:** _Guys it’s fine I’m not mad_

(17:32)  **ODY:** _He just threw the remote_

(17:33)  **ODY:** _Dude I was wATCHING THAT_

(17:34)  **PEN:** _Aren’t you supposed to be studying babe :)_

(17:35)  **ACH:** _OOOOO BABE!!!_

(17:35)  **AJA:** _bABE YOUR HOMEWORK ;) ;) ;)_

(17:35)  **AGA:** _BABEBABEBABEBABE YOUR HWWW_

(17:36)  **DIO:** _O DAMN BABE YOU R H WWWW_

(17:37)  **ODY:** _Fuck all of you I’m out_

(17:38)  **PEN:** _:D Thanks guys_

(17:39)  **DIO:** _Any time Penny!_

(17:40)  **AJA:** _Always there to back you up Pen_

(17:40)  **ACH:** _Love you Penny :)_

 

_10.22.18_

(13:14)  **ACHI <3: ** _I love the way you palmed my calf today_

(13:25)  **PAT:** _Are you always this aggressive from the get-go?_

(13:25)  **ACHI <3: ** _Only if you’re okay with it :D_

(13:25)  **ACHI <3: ** _And I’ve also been thinking about it all day_

(13:26)  **ACHI <3: ** _So it just kind of EXPLODED without me being completely lucid_

(13:37)  **PAT:** _I mean it’s weird but I’m indifferent_

(13:38)  **PAT:** _I considered being a masseuse instead but it was more of a phase_

(13:38)  **ACHI <3: ** _Incredible. Massage me ANY DAY._

(13:43)  **PAT:** _Okay that’s a bit weird_

(13:43)  **ACHI <3: ** _Okay then would it be too weird if I asked if you’re coming to the Arizona game?_

(13:44)  **PAT:** _Chiron’s depending it on if Pelion pays for my flight_

(13:45)  **PAT:** _Which is fair_

(13:45)  **ACHI <3: ** _OK cuz I already asked the assist about hotel stuff_

(13:46)  **ACHI <3: ** _They booked a local inn and…_

(13:46)  **ACHI <3: ** _I JUST REALLY WANT YOU TO COME_

(13:50)  **PAT:** _And I’d really like to come :)_

(13:55)  **PAT:** _I’ll see you tomorrow for PT. I’ll ask Chiron about it beforehand._

 

_10.23.18_

(13:25)  **ACHI <3: ** _So where are you from originally?_

(14:02)  **PAT:** _Texas, why?_

(14:02)  **ACHI <3: ** _Aw cute I can kinda hear the accent sometimes_

(14:03)  **ACHI <3: ** _You southern boy_

(14:06)  **PAT:** _I am the least southern, southern boy I know_

(14:07)  **PAT:** _I worked really hard to adapt to the West Coast, you know_

(14:07)  **ACHI <3: ** _Do you want to stay here for the rest of your life or are you planning on moving after DPT?_

(14:10)  **PAT:** _I haven’t decided_

(14:11)  **PAT:** _What about you?_

(14:11)  **PAT:** _Just a year left, right?_

(14:12)  **ACHI <3: ** _Ah, well, that’s a bit complicated. I’m a junior right now but with football…_

(14:13)  **ACHI <3:** _I’m on a five-year contract with Pelion and Coach_

 

_10.25.18_

(1:35)  **ACHI <3: ** _We should have another slumber party_

(1:50)  **PAT:** _What the fuck it’s so late…_

(1:52)  **PAT:** _And it wasn’t really a slumber party?_

(1:55)  **ACHI <3: ** _I was just thinking about it_

(1:56)  **PAT:** _I’m not a very spontaneous person_

(1:57)  **PAT:** _Staying over at yours was about as spontaneous as I get_

(1:58)  **ARCHI <3: ** _Ok then it won’t be spontaneous_

(1:59)  **ARCHI <3: ** _I’ll sneak into your hotel room if you come to Arizona_

(2:02)  **PAT:** _Holy shit, Achilles_

(2:05)  **PAT:** _And if you must know, Chiron finalized it_

(2:05)  **PAT:** _I’ll see you at the airport later._

 

 

Late that Thursday, Patroklos bussed home after his last class to pack and meet with Chiron at the stadium. His apartment was quiet all except for the open windows letting in the autumn breeze. He reached out and shut the window and locked it into place. He wouldn’t be back until late Saturday.

Patroklos exited his apartment with a Stallion blue duffle slung over one shoulder. He fetched his keys from his wallet and locked the door behind him. Naturally, it felt like he was just taking a bus to Bri’s apartment. He was used to spending the weekend at her apartment, and he knew she resented his new job just based on her opinion of Achilles and Dio. Plans had changed, and as jarring as it was for Patroklos, he felt Bri’s aggravation the most.

The moment the bus turned off his usual route to Bri’s, the realization hit him. In less than three hours, he’d be on a flight to Arizona. 

The bus pulled to a jolting stop beside the stadium parking lot. The wheels hissed, lowering to the curb, and he thanked the driver before leaping out. He slowed on the sidewalk and turned to watch the bus ride off before facing the stadium, and the buses waiting to take the team to the airport. 

Dusk was settling in when Patroklos met Chiron in the PT training office. A walk through the training room—with its dozens of cushioned tables, its exercise equipment, and the pool room—felt calming since this late in the day, they rarely got any patients around. It was empty all except for the sound of Chiron’s relaxed voice saying, “Just this bag will do. Thank you, Ajax.”

“No problem Professor C,” Ajax said. The contrasts of their voices was almost comical, and Patroklos found himself smiling before he even met Ajax’s eyes. 

He side-stepped to the left of the doorway as Ajax lumbered by with one of Chiron’s equipment bags. 

“Hey Patroklos,” he said. He pushed his back into the door and spun out with a smile. “I’ll tell Achilles you’re around.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Patroklos started, but Ajax was already gone. “Well, okay then.”

He meandered into the office as Chiron looked up from his backpack. He slung the strap over his should and said, “So it seems you’ve made several friends.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Patroklos said, swaying forward. “Do you need anything?”

“Yes, actually—for you to relax,” he said. 

Chiron clasped a hand onto Patroklos’ shoulder. He hadn’t realized he was tense until then. “Remember that this mentorship is a networking opportunity, too. If the boys like you after you graduate, you have afoot in the door to whatever team they end up with.”

He forgot about that. It was the main reason why his peers hated him now. He was several steps ahead of them just by working with Peleus’ players.

“Right. Sorry, Chiron.”

“Friends are better connections than acquaintances. Remember that,” he said with a firm pat. “Now go find Achilles and make sure that spitfire isn’t ruining his recovery.”

Surprisingly, Patroklos didn’t have to go far. After leaving the office, he headed for the training room exit. One step over the threshold and Achilles was just down the hall, hobbling on his crutches as fast as he could.

Achilles swung along the corridor until he was directly before Patroklos, who couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Achilles’ hair was swept back into blonde waves, loose and unhindered by his usual hair tie. 

“You need to stop going so fast,” Patroklos said, grinning.

“But then it’d take longer to get to you,” Achilles said. Patroklos rolled his eyes and tried to stop smiling, but couldn’t. “How are you? How was your day?”

“Fine. I’m glad to be out of classes for the weekend,” he confessed. He started to walk back towards the exit, where they’d meet with the others outside of the bus. “I have a test to prep for on Tuesday. What about you?”

“Just thinking about you the whole day.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious! I’m a chronic daydreamer—it’s a problem,” Achilles sighed. Patroklos held the door open for him as he added, “But all-in-all, very boring day. The guys all went to the gym without me, so I’m bummed about that. I like the indoor track.”

“Why? Don’t you find it kind of boring?”

“No, not really,” he said, and tapped his finger to his temple. “Chronic daydreamer, remember. I make movies in my head and the rest of the world doesn’t exist for three hours of tall blue people on alien planets.I’m honestly kind of worried that I have a dissociation problem. I’ll wake up in the morning, thinking about whatever, and then next thing you know I’m in class unable to remember how I got there, or whether or not I locked my bedroom door.”

“I think that’s a little more than a daydreaming dilemma,” Patroklos confessed. “And I suppose me telling you to be more in-the-moment won’t help.”

“Not in the slightest,” he said. “I’ve made several movies starring you since the day we met.”

“I’m sure you have,” Patroklos laughed. “And I don’t want to know what the genre is.”

Achilles threw his head back laughing, only to clamp his mouth shut at the sight of Odysseus staring them down from the gathering of football players outside of the bus. Coach Peleus stood at the door, clipboard in hand, and the assistant coach divvied up the troops between the buses. 

As names were called, Achilles asked how Patroklos’ brain worked, and he responded with, “It’s not very colorful, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“It can’t be  _that_ dull.”

“You’re right, because it’s littered with anxiety,” he muttered, and Achilles snorted, clasping a hand over his mouth with his father glanced at them. 

“Chiron,” Peleus said, and Patroklos turned to where Chiron had sidled up to the right of him. “You and your assistant can go in bus B.”

Patroklos tightened the strap on his duffle and followed after Chiron, unaware that Achilles tried to go after him, but Coach Peleus nodded him towards bus A. Achilles looked after Patroklos before grudgingly complying, hobbling to the stairs where Odysseus helped him up. 

At the airport, after clearing equipment luggage and helping Achilles through security—the crutches complicated things—seats were distributed and Patroklos took to sitting beside Chiron, marking notecards off of the chair tray, oblivious. Still, he couldn’t help but look at the row across from them and hope to find Achilles and his golden hair sitting there, staring idly out at the clouds as the elevation popped in their ears.

Achilles, on the other hand, wasn’t so oblivious. He sat beside his father near the front of the plane and sulked for the entire trip when he realized Patroklos was halfway to the back of the plane. Achilles turned back to look down the aisle, only to pause at the sight of Odysseus smirking at him from the row behind. He twisted back around and scowled at the seat ahead of him with vicious intent.

Studying helped distract Patroklos’ mind from the increased pressure in his skull, and the turbulence as they flew briefly through Nevada. Still, he couldn’t stop the way his heart raced, or how tightly his hands clenched onto his notecards when the plane began its shaky descent.

They flew into Phoenix late that night, and checked into the hotel even later, exhausted from a long day on top of traveling. Patroklos’ nervous habits made relaxing impossible, even when he swiped into his motel room and dropped his duffle onto the bed. He’d never been to Arizona, and were it not for the dense, dry heat, he wouldn’t have believed he was there. 

The motel was dressed in solid blue paint that reminded him of hostels in Greece, donning cheap paintings of flowers, and a boxy television in the corner. He collapsed back on the floral-printed comforter with an attempted sigh, but even his chest was tight. 

He stayed like this through dinner after Chiron stopped by to ask if he wanted anything from the pizza parlor the team was going to. He was sure he couldn’t stomach a thing, and so he stayed behind. 

Unfortunately, though, around the time he started hearing the commotion of the players walking down his motel floor, laughing and causing a ruckus, Patroklos’ stomach growled. He dropped a hand onto it with a sigh. It was too late to eat now—if he ate now, he’d be up until two in the morning digesting it.

The assistant coach policed the floor, ordering everyone to their rooms for the night. Doors shut, lights went out, and after about an hour, the motel was as silent as it was when they first arrived. Despite being the party animals they were, the football guys were keen on getting a good night’s rest before going up against Arizona State the following night. If they won, it’d be a long,  _long_ night before a six AM flight out back to San Francisco.

The Greek Stallion team bought out the entire motel for that night, which meant single rooms were left for the coaches, and the assistants to the team. Truthfully, Patroklos was relieved to have a room to himself, but he missed the surety of Chiron during their match against the Trojan Eagles. His reassurances the night before had saved an hour or two of lying awake and wondering.

In the midst of mentally sorting through Arizona State’s football records, he heard a quiet knock on the window facing away from the motel center, away from the parking lot. He sat up on the bed, and watched a shadow linger out by the window, hidden by the curtains. After another knock, Patroklos at last stood and walked over, pushing aside the curtain a smidge. 

He leapt at the sight of Achilles standing there, waving innocently. He put a hand to his head and urged himself to calm down enough to push the window up and hiss, voice low, “ _What the Hell are you doing?!_ It’s midnight!”

“I know,” Achilles said, “but I said I’d sneak in through your window.”

Patroklos tipped his head in confusion before remembering—their text conversations. He slapped a hand to his face and groaned, “I thought you were  _joking_ .”

Achilles produced a shallow box from behind his back with a smile “Also, we missed you at dinner so I brought back some pizza for you.”

He hefted up a pizza box. He was on one crutch and managing it well, but he knew Chiron would have a fit if he saw this. Patroklos reached for the box, but Achilles swiped it out of his grasp.

“Achilles—” Patroklos started, annoyed, tired, and angry.

“Come out to the pool with me,” he said. His smile was soft, sweet, and reassuring. He wouldn’t push Patroklos, not when he was this strung out. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Patroklos shoved the window all the way up and stuck a foot through. He grabbed onto the frame over head and slid out, landing on firm feet in the garden wood chips.

Achilles staggered out of the bushes after handing the pizza box over. Patroklos lowered his window down a smidge, leaving room for when he’d return. He’d apologize for wasting the AC later, but for now, he and Achilles were on a mission.

Once they were a decent ways away from the rooms, and to the fencing around the pool, Achilles said, “You know Dio hunted down Bri on all forms of social media?” 

“You’re kidding,” he groaned. He rolled his head back on his shoulders with a sigh. “I can assure you she will  _not_ find that flattering.”

“Dio refuses to friend her, though, so Odysseus got, like, half the team to follow her on Instagram,” Achilles said as Patroklos pushed the gate open with his back and held it for him. Achilles’ crutch clicked across the pavement, and to one of the old-fashioned, plastic outdoor chairs. He leant his crutch against the back and dropped down onto the edge of it. Patroklos took the seat beside him, sitting so that he faced Achilles and eagerly listened to everything Achilles had to say about the team dinner.

As he ate, Achilles leant back on the seat and kicked his feet up onto it. “You know, I think Dio really likes Briseis. And I know she’ll never like him but I think it’s kind of sweet. He tends to get into these swings of sudden romanticism, and when he’s not in those swings, he just fucks anything with legs. And by anything I mean sorority girls who think his dick is hot or whatever.”

“Is it though?”

“It’s average,” Achilles said. Patroklos laughed, covering his mouth because of the pizza still there. “And if you’re wondering why I’ve seen it, all that needs to be said is ‘communal showers’.”

“Ah, yes, the bane of my existence,” Patroklos said. “You’d think straight men would be able to handle themselves better around fully clothed women when I spent my entire adolescence sharing showers after gym class.”

“I don’t know about you, but when  _I_ was an adolescent fiend—I once started a water fight in the communal showers. Best day of my life.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Achilles smiled, clasping his hands behind his head. He settled his eyes on Patroklos, who lowered the pizza from his mouth. He was on his last slice. “So have you dated before?” Achilles asked.

“Not really,” he said. “It’s kind of difficult. Growing up in a conservative county.”

“Then, like, unofficial flings?”

He shrugged. He’d never talked about it, not even after everything that happened with his father. Bri never pushed him, and Patroklos always suspected that it was because she didn’t want to know. They never talked about relationships in a personal matter. It was always objective, unbiased, and unrelated to either of them.

“It’s kind of a shitshow, to be honest,” he said after a moment of uncertainty. “Something happened at my school. With one of the upperclassmen in my grade. And you know how I was a year and a half younger than everyone in my grade—so… yeah. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Can I ask a yes or no question then?” he said, and Patroklos nodded. “Were you… assaulted? Like, no consent?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he said. “It’s how my dad found out because the police got involved. What about you?”

“Not really,” Achilles confessed. The tension in Patroklos’ shoulders faded, and relief washed over him now that his side of the conversation was over. Achilles tipped his head to the side, looking to where the pool lights reflected webs of cyan on the surrounding concrete. “Despite how much I flirt, I think my mom would have a hernia if I started dating. She was kind of… strict about that. At first it was no dating before sixteen, and then no dating before eighteen, and then  _whoa, surprise!_ no dating until twenty-one.”

“One more year,” Patroklos said, and Achilles laughed.

“As if I’d follow that rule,” he said, and his voice dropped off, lowered eyes lifting to meet his. Patroklos paused midway through cleaning his fingers from the pizza grease. He dropped his hands innocently to his lap, and Achilles laughed, sitting up. He leaned over his knees and drummed his fingers over the boot. “Am I allowed to swim, doc?”

“It’s been a week, so sure—gently, though,” he said without thinking, and it wasn’t until Achilles started undoing the straps that Patroklos realized that Achilles was just wearing regular clothes.  _He_ was just wearing ordinary clothes. 

He opened his mouth to voice these concerns, but Achilles was already pulling his shirt over his head and leaving it behind with his boot and crutches. 

Patroklos clamped his mouth shut to keep from squeaking. The gay panic was rising, and he took to looking at the water instead of Achilles. It was impossible for him to forget just how toned athletes were—he worked with them on a daily basis—but it was different with Achilles. He actually  _liked_ Achilles, and seeing that much skin had his face flushing. 

He heard Achilles drop his zipper.

“You- You didn’t bring a swimsuit, did you?” Patroklos asked, slapping his hands over his eyes.

“Relax. That’s what skinny dipping is for.”

“Oh gods—”

“Dude, seriously, skinny dipping is the greatest thing in the world,” Achilles said, rising to his foot. He kept his bad foot raised, the skin around the tear yellow from old bruises. “Help me to the stairs?”

Patroklos hadn’t realized he peeked to see Achilles’ foot, so when he looked up, he caught a glance of  _all that_ . Holy  _fuck_ . 

He stood up so he wouldn’t have to be at eye-level with that. He felt his brain short-circuiting as he let Achilles lean on him during the walk to the pool’s edge. 

From there, Achilles used the bar to lower himself down. Patroklos looked back at the chair where he saw Achilles’ pineapple-printed boxer briefs hanging from the crutch. 

“Okay, let’s be real,” Achilles said, as if this was all a dream and not real at all. Patroklos had a hand to his forehead, eyes wide, and only lowered it to block out the lower half of Achilles’ body under the water. He was standing in the shallow end, and so Patroklos could see the defined V of his hips. “Skinny dipping is the number one way of relieving stress.”

“That is not a fact and you know it,” Patroklos said sharply, closing his eyes. “Oh my god, Achilles, you are so bias right now.”

“Am not! Trust me—you’ll never feel any better than you do with your bare ass submerged in water, man.”

“I can think of a hundred other ways to feel better about myself.”

“You’re just knocking it because you’ve never tried it.” Patroklos’ eyes were still shut, but he heard Achilles’ voice closer than before. The water swished with the motion of Achilles pushing his hands through it, and then lifting up onto the edge of the pool near where Patroklos stood, bright red. 

“I won’t  _make_ you skinny dip,” Achilles said at last with a sigh. “But seriously, c’mon. Just go in your underwear—it’ll be fine.”

Despite how the temperature dropped at night, Patroklos couldn’t deny that he was craving the water. With his stomach full, and his mind distracted from everything outside of the pool circumference, he figured he might be able to  _do this_ . They were in  _Arizona_ ! He never once swam in Arizona, let alone set foot on Arizonian soil.

Patroklos toed off his shoes and kicked them towards the chairs. Achilles whooped in excitement, spinning away and kicking off with his one good foot as Patroklos turned his eyes to the sky and said, “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” before wiggling out of his shorts. He was grateful that he decided to wear a simple pair of black boxers that day. 

He tugged his shirt overhead and tossed it towards his chair before lowering to the edge of the pool. The moment his toes touched the water, he sighed in relief. It was  _actually_ warm, almost like bath water, perhaps even warmer than the air at that moment. He looked over at where Achilles was floating around, waist submerged, and skin aglow from the pool lights. Ripples of reflected water swayed over their skin as Patroklos kicked his legs out and pushed off of the ledge.

He ducked under immediately before resurfacing with a gasp, pushing his dark curls back with a smile. “I can’t remember the last time I went swimming,” he confessed. After a split second, he rolled his eyes. “Well, aside from the PT pool at the stadium.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t count. It’s the size of a kiddy pool,” Achilles said. 

“Have you ever gone skinny dipping with the guys before?” Patroklos asked, genuinely curious.

Achilles hummed his confirmation. He reclined back in the water, kicking his good leg out. “We have a contest going. How many states can you swim naked in. I’m in first.”

“Again, not surprised,” Patroklos laughed. He floated back and draped his arms over the ledge of the pool. “Who’s second?”

“Menelaus,” he said. “We often race to the pool together whenever we get the chance. My dad was all up in our business, though, so we weren’t able to race today.”

“Ooh, darn,” Patroklos said sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, it’s easier when it’s already dark out,” he said. He drifted closer, tipping his head back to find Patroklos watching him.

Patroklos swallowed hard, eyes wide as Achilles straightened and turned around to face him. He felt a shiver pass over him, the heat of the water unable to stop the air from chilling his exposed arms. Goosebumps spread as Achilles drifted up beside him at the edge of the pool, and touched his nose to Patroklos’ wrist. 

Through a great force of will, Patroklos relaxed his clenched fist, and Achilles reached up to trace his fingers against the concrete. He lifted Patroklos’ hand and kissed his knuckles. 

“How many states do you have?” he asked, voice hitched. Achilles was fitting their fingers together, and Patroklos closed his hand around Achilles without a second thought.

Achilles hummed, pulling Patroklos’ arm off the ledge. He drifted back until their arms were stretched as far as they could manage, hands still intertwined. “Mm… six… seven now,” he said.

He drew himself forward, and Patroklos gained the distinct image of a ballroom dance. Swing dancing, maybe, as Achilles drifted through the water and circled in to where their chests came within inches of each other, and their legs touched. He wondered if Achilles could feel his goosebumps.

Achilles waited, patiently, as Patroklos stilled under their proximity. They were close enough for Patroklos to debate which of Achilles’ eyes to focus on, and when the pressure built, he let out a shuddering breath and gasped, “I shouldn’t, Achilles.”

“ _‘Shouldn’t’_ is an excuse,” he countered. Patroklos was relieved that Achilles hadn’t blown up at him. His expression remained calm, and just that gentle hint of understanding made it possible for Patroklos to even attempt to explain himself.

“I don’t want to disappoint Chiron,” he confessed, shaking his head. “And I know Chiron told me it’s okay, I don’t want to push it. I worked this hard to get here—”

“You  _did_ . And you’re doing incredible,” Achilles said, and Patroklos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he turned his face away and scowled at the water. Now wasn’t the time for flattery. “I love that you being here was purposefully. And so I get it if you don’t want to do this right now. I’m willing to wait until you’re done with your mentorship.”

“Achilles…” Patroklos sighed, but he couldn’t finish it. He pursed his lips and spared a glance at Achilles’ hopeful eyes. After the mentorship, Achilles would have just one more year, and then they’d be living separate lives. Patroklos would pledge to another team, and so would Achilles. Their paths would only cross on opposite sides of the field.

“I just want you to know something,” Achilles said, laying their joined hands together on Patroklos’ bare chest. “Everything that happened to me was by chance. I never made it happen—my mother did, and the fact that Thetis Myrmidon happened to be my mother is like winning the athletic lottery. My life has been built on chances, but  _you_ made everything happen. You being here is so intentional, like, getting ahead in school and actually  _working_ for good grades? When have you ever taken risks like I have?”

Patroklos never took chances. If he took chances like this back when he lived with his father, life would have been worse. He might never have gotten the courage, or the push, to work for scholarships and get into Mount Pelion University the way he did. Chances were risks he never would have taken before Achilles.

“Being your friend was a risk, if I’m being honest,” he confessed, voice quiet. Achilles laughed, and those dimples were contagious. Patroklos lowered his smile to the water where Achilles was still flush against him. 

“Do something outside of your intentions for once in your life, alright?” Achilles said. “It doesn’t have to be now, but—”

Patroklos pushed off of the ledge, reaching out his hand to Achilles wet hair so he could press their lips together. Achilles didn’t waste a second, and whatever form of shock he experienced dissipated the moment their lips touched. He broke his hand free from between their touching chests, and as Achilles’ fingers spread across Patroklos’ hipbones, Patroklos pulled back to breathe a content sigh against Achilles’ lips.

Achilles kissed his lips to Patroklos’ jaw and ran his tongue down the droplets of chlorine water dripping from Patroklos’ hair, down his neck, and to his collarbone. Patroklos pushed his hands through Achilles’ hair, slipping against the pool wall with a laugh. He couldn’t keep himself up, not at this rate. His head was spinning, fueled by a desperation he hadn’t felt before.

“Achilles,” he gasped, pushing his hand to Achilles’ chest where he had dipped to the edge of the water, fingers tight on his hipbones. “We can’t— Not here—”

“Your room,” Achilles said, and if Patroklos wasn’t already turned on, Achilles’ raspy voice sure did the trick. As Achilles sprung into action, Patroklos had to slow him down when it came to exiting the pool. Hopping up from the ledge wasn’t an option with his leg in that state. 

At the sun chairs, Achilles practically leapt into his pineapple boxers, and Patroklos—once again—had to slow him down. He used his shirt to dry Achilles’ leg, gingerly, and patted the water dry off of his ankle. During the the time it took to do this, and strap the boot on, Achilles worked his fingers idly through Patroklos’ hair and dragged his nails across the back of his exposed neck. 

Patroklos shuddered at the touch and looked up, intending to scold Achilles, but instead he found Achilles close enough for their noses to brush against one another. Achilles broke out in a teasing smile and said, “You look good on your knees.”

Patroklos was so shocked he accidentally slapped Achilles across the bare chest and left a red welt in its place. Achilles grunted, doubling forward, and Patroklos gasped, hands clasped over his mouth. “Oh gods! I- I didn’t mean to- so sorry—” he started, but Achilles held his finger up to silence him.

He thumped a fist against his chest, drawing a breath back in before croaking out through pained lungs, “It’s fine.”

“I- Are you sure? I just—” Patroklos said, only to stop at the sight of Achilles’ grin returning, wider than before. He huffed and said, “Oh, right, I forget that you’re  _immune to pain_ .”

“ _Physical_ pain,” Achilles corrected. “Emotionally, I’m like fine china.”

Patroklos laughed, pushing himself to his feet and dragging Achilles up with him. He wasn’t willing to risk what sort of injuries Achilles would sustain from climbing in through the window, so he let them in through the front with his keys—as quietly as Achilles’ crutch allowed—before shutting and locking the door. 

He never went far with any other guys. Dating wasn’t really on his mind, not when his grades depended on getting into Pelion’s DPT program. Bri never pressured him to date, and so it never happened. He nearly had flings, but they weren’t as significant as the way Achilles kissed him the second they were on the bed.

Achilles pushed himself over Patroklos as the crutch clattered to the ground beside the bed. Patroklos looked after it, distracted by the fact that Achilles really shouldn’t be—

“Careful—Careful with your leg,” Patroklos said.

“It’s fine—it’s in the boot,” Achilles said before closing his mouth around Patroklos’, drawing out every lasting breath from his lungs before he separated, breath heavy on Patroklos’ throat. He soothed his tongue over it before sucking hard enough to scatter Patroklos’ braincells for a split second before he pushed Achilles away.

“No hickeys—you do realize we’re going to be on TV tomorrow?” Patroklos whisper in a panic, only to hiss out a curse when Achilles ducked below his collarbone and bit into the muscle of his pec. 

“What about here?” Achilles asked, laying a kiss to the red mark before biting another lower, where Patroklos’ abdomen tightened. “Or here?”

“I- I guess—” Patroklos said, voice wavering. He sunk into the pillows with a shuddering sigh, arching his back as a shiver rolled up his spine and spread goosebumps across the fine skin beneath his waistband when Achilles’ lips traveled lower. He pushed himself up to his elbows and opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what, because at that moment, Achilles looked up to him and  _gods_ , he wondered if this was one of Achilles’ daydreams.

“Are you okay with this?” Achilles asked, straightening up. “You look kind of—”

“Just—Just shocked. I’m fine,” Patroklos said. Achilles crawled back up to cradle Patroklos’ face between his hands.

When their lips touched, Patroklos could taste the chlorine on Achilles’ tongue, and the salt from his skin on Achilles’ lips. He parted his mouth as Achilles surged forward, laying him back onto the pillows until they were both breathless and  _entirely_ too turned on to stop. Achilles settled back, panting, and Patroklos managed to say, “ _Yes_ . Yes, I want this.”

Achilles beamed at him, and were it not for the thrill of Achilles’ hand going to the waistband of his briefs, he would have laughed at Achilles’ childish excitement. Achilles pecked him on the lips once more before saying, “ _Good_ , because I bet I look way better on my knees than you do.”

“I don’t know who’s ego is bigger—yours or Odysseus’,” Patroklos said, turning his eyes to the ceiling as he lifted his hips and felt the cool air reach every part of him.

“No talking about Odysseus. I only want one dick right now,” Achilles said.

He trailed his hands up Patroklos’ abdomen, and as his fingers climbed, he lowered his mouth over Patroklos’ cock. His fingers followed the motion of Patroklos’ loosing his breath, his chest arcing. A breathy curse spilled past his lips. He clenched his fingers in the sheets, and by some sheer amount of self-control, he managed to keep every desperate sound contained.

Because fuck it—if motel rooms were soundproof, he’d let Achilles hear it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUDES I haven't really written fics that have mass amounts of texting, but if y'all are into that I'll write more of those lmao XD


	6. Practically Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles' honor is threatened on live television, and Bri has a LOT more to deal with than Dio's puppy love.

Odysseus stopped by a nearby coffee shop and bought three shakes the following morning: One for him, one for Dio, and another for Achilles. Unfortunately, Coach was in charge of room assignments, and Odysseus was forced to entrust Achilles’ physical and emotional protection on Dio. 

He stirred in their protein for the day using the travel packets Coach always brought with on trips. Honestly, he had his favorite brand, but he couldn’t deny the fact that Coach’s protein powder was  _spot on_ , so he wasn’t complaining. He snapped the cap onto the last shake before carrying them all out the front door, and meandering across the street to the motel. The busses were parked on the far side of the parking lot where his room was, and next to where Dio and Achilles’ room was stationed.

He set his shake on the railing before knocking on Dio’s door. When he received no answer, he tried for a more  _forward_ approach.

Odysseus used his closed fist and banged on the door, hollering, “ _Diomedes! Open the fucking do—_ ”

The lock clicked and the door swung up. Odysseus lowered his hand at the sight of Dio standing there, shoulders slumped, eyes tired. Odysseus rose an eyebrow at him. “Dude, it’s ten in the morning.”

“I feel like shit, dude. No ‘ _Hello, Dio. How are you, Dio. What are you sad about, Dio_ .’”

“What’re you… sad about?” Odysseus asked with an obvious grimace. He winced, and Dio slapped a hand over his face.

Dio groaned and flopped his hand froward, crying, “It’s  _Briseis!_ She’ll never love me back!”

He fake-sobbed against the door, which gave Odysseus a perfect view of one  _very_ empty bed. The floral sheets didn’t even looked used, let alone touched. Achilles’ Stallion blue and orange duffle sat at the end where Odysseus had watched him drop it off the night before.

As he studied this, he realized that Dio had been talking the entire time. “—and then she put her Instagram profile on  _private_ and I think it might be because I accidentally liked a post from three years ago—”

“Dio,” Odysseus interrupted. Dio turned his sad, puppy eyes onto Odysseus, lips pouting. “Where… Where is Achilles, exactly?”

Dio blinked and then turned to look at Achilles bed as if he hadn’t realized it was there before. Dio put a hand to his mouth and uttered a slow, dreadful curse before looking at Odysseus. 

Odysseus clenched the two protein shakes in his one hand before turning and leaving the room. “Wait, buddy—” Dio started, but it was too late. 

Odysseus grabbed the drink off of the railing with his free hand and wound it back. Chocolate shake sloshed out in a spray across the parking lot when Odysseus chucked it. The cup arced over cars, and nailed one of the coach buses in the windshield. A split second later, a low, lilting horn starting blaring in tune with the headlines flashing. 

Odysseus whirled on Dio, who stared after the protein shake in horror. He then dropped his hands into clenched fists and cried, “Dude, I told you not to use your aim for evil!”

“ _You_ made me do this!” Odysseus shouted. “I gave you  _specific_ instructions—”

“Dude, I didn’t sign up for this—”

“It’s  _implied—_ ”

Down the row of rooms, Coach’s door burst open. Coach Peleus scrambled out to the railing, staring across the parking lot where a protein shake had painted a line of cars brown, and then the bus’ alarm system going off. Peleus turned to look down the railing, and caught Odysseus with two shakes in one hand.

“Would you believe me if I said it was Achilles’ fault?” Odysseus asked. Coach’s face twisted up in anger, turning redder by the seconding. “On second thought, I better—”

Odysseus took off sprinting before Coach could put in a single word. Dio ducked back into his room before he could be called out as responsible for this shitshow.

By the time the bus driver got around to shutting off the alarm, all of the team was awake whether or not they had been conscious before the alarms. Tired and annoyed, the team all congregated and mingled in fascination over the new paint job on several cars that played as casualties in Odysseus’ rampage. 

Odysseus went straight for Patroklos’ door (of course he made a mental note of where that rat bastard was!) and began hammering on it before neither Patroklos nor Achilles were fully conscious. 

Patroklos wiggled into his shorts as Achilles stretched his arms overhead and flopped perpendicular on the mattress when Patroklos got up to answer the door. He could tell who it was just from the anger in every knock, so he didn’t bother hiding Achilles before unlocking the door.

He kept moving so he could avoid being clobbered upside the head by Odysseus dual-wielding shakes. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom. You two have fun,” Patroklos said on his way across the room. He disappeared behind the bathroom door, and after a split second, locked it.

Odysseus stepped over the threshold and kicked the door shut— _hard_ . Achilles grinned cheekily at him from where he flung his arms up over his head and around the mess of pillows. 

“You gay fuck—get your ass outside right now,” Odysseus seethed.

“No. I don’t want to,” Achilles said with a pout.

Odysseus stormed over to the edge of the bed, and Achilles stayed where he was, content as a goddamn  _cat_ . Achilles met his eyes, frowning, and at last sat up and turned around to face him. “You don’t get it, Odysseus,” he said, jabbing a finger at Odysseus’ chest. “ _You_ get to date! Your parents don’t give a fuck!”

“Yes, but that’s because  _I_ know how to prioritize. You have the attention span of a toddler, Achilles,” he retorted.

Achilles pushed himself off of the bed and bent down to fetch his crutch. He stepped away from Odysseus, lips set into a tight line of frustration. He wanted to leave, but that would just be doing what Odysseus wanted. He wanted to kick Odysseus out, but he couldn’t do that, not to his friend. The bathroom door was locked. Patroklos would get pissed if he jumped out the window…

“Achilles,” Odysseus sighed. 

“No. I don’t want to talk to you,” he said, free hand on his hip. He turned to face the window, away from where Odysseus tried desperately to find a way for Achilles to cooperate. 

Going against him didn’t seem to be working—clearly—so he’d just have to take a different route. “Do you really think your mother’s going to tolerate something like this? I don’t know her all that well, but Thetis  _will_ be interested, especially now that you’re on the bench.”

“She hasn’t even called,” Achilles retorted, and the fact that he responded to it swelled Odysseus’ hope. Achilles turned to face him, scowling. “And she won’t find out.”

“If you want to hide this from her, you can’t go sleeping in Patroklos’ hotel room, Achilles,” Odysseus said. “That’s just a basic rule, especially since you aren’t exactly in sneaking condition.”

“Fine, then you need to stop bothering Patroklos about this,” Achilles said, swinging his crutch out to catch Odysseus at the knees. Odysseus side-stepped it, though.

“Fine, whatever. But if I catch you slacking off  _after_ you’re back on your feet—”

“Okay! Okay, yeah, I’ll… stay focused. I’ll recover and be back to being your bitch or whatever,” Achilles said, and Odysseus threw his head back laughing. Achilles smiled softly, looking down at his feet until he found a protein shake being held out to him. He looked up and found Odysseus smiling. “You’re such an ass,” Achilles muttered, but it was all in good nature.

He took the protein shake offering.

Achilles sucked down a mouthful of the chocolate shake before the bathroom door unlocked. Odysseus was heading for the door, and turned as Patroklos emerged, hesitantly, and reached for his shirt that was in a pile on the floor. Odysseus pointed to Patroklos, and the line of red bruises down his abdomen.

“Nice one,” Odysseus said, thumping Achilles on the back before disappearing out of the room and slamming the door behind him. Achilles laughed as Patroklos held his shirt to his abdomen, eyes wide.

The trip went on, and that night, the game proceeded without Achilles on the field. It was their first game since Achilles’ injury, and Achilles spent a portion at the start of the game discussing his recovery with journalists on the sidelines, all their cameras and microphones held out to him. Patroklos tried to ignore the way Achilles pointed back to him and Chiron, because he knew at least one of the dozens of cameras were trying to zoom in on him. 

He crossed his arms and watched the players warm up for the game. Achilles sidled over after a while, and just as he was arriving at Patroklos’ side, Coach Peleus dragged him off to speak with someone else.

They spent the game separated, on opposite ends of the bench. Achilles wouldn’t have minded it if he couldn’t focus on the game itself. So much for that promise to Odysseus, because all he could think about now was how Patroklos’ skin felt against his and fuck, he was gone. If he thought the daydreams were bad before, by gods they were downright torturous now.

Patroklos, on the other hand, was used to ignoring his feelings, despite how they throttled him and sought to cut off his air supply. Every glance down the bench ended with catching Achilles’ gaze. He was almost certain Achilles didn’t look at the game once until halftime at which point Dio marched over and swept him up off the bench with his arms tight around Achilles’ torso. 

Dio hefted Achilles into the air and swept him up, bridal style, on the way to the gathering of players around Coach Peleus. Patroklos turned to Chiron then from where they both sat on the bench against the wall, the first row of seats several feet overhead. 

“I think I might have made a mistake in indulging Achilles,” Patroklos confessed. “Perhaps Odysseus is right—Achilles needs to focus on one thing at a time.”

“Then how will the boy ever learn to balance life?” Chiron remarked, staring out past the crew walking by then. Chiron scrubbed a hand over his white beard and sighed. “Odysseus is very Type A. It’s difficult for him to understand the way Achilles views the world.”

“Regardless, right now Achilles’ view of the world is tunnel vision. I don’t want him to get in trouble just because—”  _he can’t stop daydreaming_ , Patroklos wanted to say, but he held back.

“Thetis has kept him very sheltered,” Chiron explained. “I would advise that you do not do the same.”

“I’m not qualified to be dealing with this. He’s one year away from making millions and I don’t want to influence him. Besides, his parents must know best, right? They’ve known him far longer than I have,” Patroklos said, dropping his hands to his lap. 

“I can’t say, Patroklos,” Chiron said. “I’ve known Achilles for a long while now, but I’ve never attempted to influence his parents. They are just as stubborn as Achilles is. That said, I don’t think he’d allow you to convince him not to be your friend without good reason.”

“I get that you’re implying that this isn’t a good enough reason?”

“Exactly. And don’t go looking for one, unless you really do feel like you and Achilles would make better strangers together.”

Patroklos thought on it, and selfishly, he decided that he didn’t want to be a stranger to Achilles. Emotionally, he was like fine china, and the last thing Patroklos wanted to do was break him.

He didn’t voice this, but he continued to think about it through the game. The only break his mind received was when Menelaus, linebacker and number 26, went down and didn’t get up initially. He and Chiron went out onto the field as the ref spoke with the player who had kicked Menelaus’ feet out from under him during a tackle. A flag went up, and Menelaus returned to his feet with a slight limp. The tension in his knee was from a minor hyperextension. He’d be fine, and in that relief, they walked him off the field. The crowd cheered for him, and he waved to the stands.

* * *

 

(19:34)  **BRI:** _I saw you on TV!_

(19:35)  **BRI:** _Damn that interview with Achilles he couldn’t stop talking about his PHYSICAL THERAPIST(S)_

(19:45)  **PAT:** _What did he say about us?_

(19:50)  **BRI:** _Just that Chiron has a really incredible mentee ;)_

(19:52)  **PAT:** _I can’t tell if you’re kidding because that sounds like something he’d say_

(19:54)  **BRI:** _I wouldn’t be surprised if someone came over to talk to you about Achilles recovery_

(19:55) **BRI:** _I mean, you were the one who figured out that he tore his tendon_

(19:57) **PAT:** _They don’t happen all that often_

(19:58)  **PAT:** _It was just kind of a shitty circumstance that he pivoted in the fall_

(19:59) **BRI:** _Tell it to the cameras baby :D_

(20:00) **PAT:** _Would now be a good time to say that I think Achilles and I are dating?_

(20:15)  **BRI:** _Patroklos, you buffoon, you are the worst at topic transitions_

(20:16)  **PAT:** _Is that a no D:_

(20:17)  **BRI:** _No I’m happy for you_

* * *

 

She most definitely wasn’t happy with him. 

Patroklos lowered his phone out of view with a frown. He was half-paying attention, but thankfully the half of his brain that was conscious was fully aware of what Chiron was asking for. He removed a roll of gauze from Chiron’s bag and went ahead and swiftly wrapped it above and below Menelaus’ knee.

As he debated the repercussions of Bri’s possible anger, Bri was already festering in it, shrinking beneath the covers on her bed and out of sight. She reached a hand out for the remote and shut the television off. The game announcer’s voice cut off and night flooded her room once again. 

She scowled into the dark as she pulled the covers over her head and tried to think about anything else. Though, the only thing that came to mind were her own worries, and the fact that her parents would be visiting soon. She’d already organized the reservations for dinner the night of their stay, so she was relieved to have that off of her plate. Now, all she had to focus on was  _sitting through said dinner_ .

She lifted her phone up, her thumb hovering over the last message notification from Patroklos. No, she couldn’t ask him to come. Not now, anyways. She had to get over herself first.

She powered down her phone and set it on the nightstand.

The day for Bri’s family dinner was approaching fast, which also meant that her grudge against Patroklos had to fade before then. She paced her apartment floor, phone in one hand, and her other hand holding her chin. Her sweater covered her hands almost completely—perhaps it was because it was Patroklos’. 

_You can’t get over this if you keep wearing the clothes he leaves behind_ , she chastised. She threw her phone down and tugged his sweater off. It fell to the floor at the foot of her bed before she picked up the phone. On a whim, she pulled up Patroklos’ contact and pressed the call button.

Unfortunately, at the time Patroklos’ phone rang, a situation stirred at Pilam that he couldn’t control at all, yet somehow wound up in the mix of. All it took was Achilles watching the recap Agamemnon put on the television in the common room. Patroklos was trying to help him to the stairs, but stopped when Achilles stilled behind the couch, eyes on the screen.

“—After Achilles’ injury, I have to say I wasn’t sure if the Stallions would be able to hold their winning streak. He’s always been something of a pillar to the team—”

“Emphasis on ‘been’. It seems the Stallions can hold their own, even without an olympian’s son on the field. Overall I’m impressed with—”

Agamemnon, who was reclined back on the couch, looked over at Achilles. Patroklos caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, and then the way Achilles’ hands tensed around the bars on his crutches. Achilles’ jaw tightened, the muscle ticking. Agamemnon rolled his eyes and looked back to the television, lowering the volume as he said, “For fuck’s sake.  _Odysseus!_ ”

As Agamemnon called for Odysseus, Achilles turned and started for the stairs, spitting out, “ _Don’t_ call him over here—”

“Achilles’ superiority is being disputed on live television!” Agamemnon shouted. 

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Achilles snapped at him, and in that split second, Odysseus had swung around the railing and scrambled to the first floor. 

Odysseus staggered to a halt at the foot of the stairs, and Achilles groaned in protest, turning away and hobbling towards the kitchen, where he could escape up the back stairwell instead. Patroklos leapt out of the way when Odysseus chased after him, and Agamemnon shouted, “Caress his ego, Odey!”

Odysseus wheeled back around to scowl at Agamemnon. “I’ll deal with you later,” he promised before returning back to chasing Achilles.

“Leave me alone!” Achilles whined. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Penny and I were just watching the recap—”

“I don’t care. Nope—we aren’t talking about this,” Achilles said, turning his chin away from Odysseus. Patroklos hurried around to interject, but was stopped by Odysseus bracing himself in the hallway entrance, to where Achilles’ escape route was. 

Odysseus put his hands on either wall. 

“What’s it matter to you anyways! You guys did fine without me,” Achilles dronned, dragging himself back to the living room.

“Yeah, if you want to call overtime ‘fine’,” Agamemnon said from the couch, kicking one leg up over the back cushion. “You clearly didn’t see Coach’s face, man.”

Achilles leveled him with a scowl.

“This isn’t me supporting you,” Agamemnon clarified before popping a Dorito into his mouth.

“Be honest with me—is this boot just a reason for you guys to go on without me?” Achilles demanded, kicking his bum leg out for Odysseus to see. 

“Ah, yes, we planned the whole thing,” Agamemnon laughed sarcastically. “Dude, as if. Get over yourself.”

“I’m sure you all just  _love_ practice without me,” Achilles sang mockingly. He jabbed his crutch out at Odysseus, who slapped it away. Achilles tried again, and this time Odysseus grabbed it and yanked.

“Stop it,” Odysseus said. “You’re being ridiculous. You know you shouldn’t be listening to those assholes anyways.”

“Yeah, but who knows  _how many people_ listen to those assholes—” Achilles was saying as Patroklos watched on until his attention was drawn to his buzzing phone in his pocket. 

Patroklos fished it out with some difficulty. He’d been balancing his own duffle and Achilles’, so at the sight of Bri’s face on his screen, he set one duffle aside and put the speaker to his ear.

“Briseis?” he said, surprised. “What’s up? I just got to Pilam.”

Almost as soon as her name left his lips, he caught the sound of footsteps drumming down the kitchen hallway, and by the time he stopped talking, Dio was in the room, struck by the sight of Achilles trying to take Odysseus out with his crutches, and Agamemnon howling with laughter on the couch.

Patroklos slapped his free hand over his other ear to hear Bri better. 

“Hey Patroklos,” Bri said as Patroklos was in the midst of navigating three conversations—one between Achilles and Odysseus, the other being Dio asking what the hell was going on. “You know how my parents are coming to visit tonight?”

“Yeah, I reminded you about the reservations at that Italian place at the end of Phthia Street,” he said. 

“Yeah, I was kind of hoping you’d come with?” she said, just as Odysseus all but body slammed Achilles onto the couch, sandwiching Achilles between himself and a screaming Agamemnon. 

Patroklos winced and shouted, “Careful! Don’t—throw him around like a rag doll! His leg is injured!” 

“What’s going on?” Bri asked.

“Are you talking to Briseis right now?” Dio whispered in Patroklos’ other ear. 

Patroklos swatted him away and hissed, “ _Yes_ ,” before returning his attention back to the phone. “What time are the reservations? I’ll see if I can make it.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Achilles cried from the couch, trying to look around Odysseus’ shoulder to no avail. Achilles started thrashing around with even more vigor until he elbowed Odysseus in the jaw and flopped onto the ground. 

Odysseus cursed, pushing himself up by the back of the couch as Achilles army-crawled over the wood flooring to where Patroklos was listening to Briseis say, “Five. I’m leaving, like,  _now_ if you can catch a bus over there.”

“I—” Patroklos started, prepared to agree until Achilles latched onto his leg and tried to take him down. “Let go of my foot!” he cried, staggering. He shook his leg out, hopping on one foot before Achilles grabbed his other leg and pinned it to the ground. Patroklos had forgotten that, despite Achilles’ main weapon being his speed, Achilles was still subjected to weight training with the other players. In other words, Achilles’ bicep wasn’t the size of Patroklos’ face for nothing.

“Achilles!” Patroklos shrieked, tripping and landing flat on his ass.

“Don’t  _leeeave_ . My emotional fine china just shattered,” Achilles cried, fake-sobbing with his face against Patroklos’ shins.

Patroklos tried to weasel himself out of the situation, but in the process, managed to relinquish his phone to Dio’s grasp. “Our good friend Patroklos is stuck in the fatal quicksand pit named Achilles,” Dio reported. Odysseus climbed over and sat on Achilles’ lower back, trying to pry his grubby fingers from Patroklos’ ankles. “Odysseus is attempting a rescue mission. Oh- Oh, he’s freed one ankle from the quicksand—”

“Fuck you,” Bri seethed before hanging up. 

Patroklos reached for the phone desperately, but Dio held it up with a dejected shrug. Patroklos flopped back on the ground, arm over his eyes. “Dammit…” he groaned, and only lowered his hand when Dio set the phone on his chest. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know. I think I kind of pissed her off,” Dio said.

“She was already pissed off,” Patroklos said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He frowned down at Achilles, who looked up at him with desperate puppy eyes. Odysseus hand one hand securing Achilles’ wrist away from Patroklos’ one free leg. “I doubt she wants to see me right now. Though I feel bad abandoning her with her parents,” he confessed, looking up to Dio.

“What’s so terrible about them?” he asked.

“Inheritance stuff,” Patroklos replied. “They’re on speaking terms, though, so it shouldn’t go too terribly. Can I stand up now?”

Achilles begrudgingly flopped onto his side, and rolled onto his back. He sat up as Patroklos rose to his feet and reached out to help Achilles stand with him. He grunted with the effort, but once fully standing, Achilles held him up with his arms wrapped around him. 

“Come walk me upstairs?” Achilles asked, quietly against his hair. 

Patroklos rolled his eyes and said, “Sure,” before pulling away to fetch the crutches. Odysseus had them in his hands and held them out to Patroklos when he reached for them. As they went off to the stairs,Dio watched after them until they were out of view. He then turned to Odysseus.

“Have you been to that Italian restaurant on Phthia Street?” he asked.

Odysseus shrugged. “Yeah. Penny and I went after finals last year. Why?”

“What’s the dress code?”

“Nice shirt and slacks…” he answered, eyes narrowing. He put his hands on his hips. “Why…”

Dio backed towards the kitchen, smiling innocently. “No reason,” he said before turning and hurrying to his room to change. 

Unlike Achilles, Dio had a looser leash when it came to Odysseus. Odysseus shrugged it off and went back to the stairs to join Penny in his room, and Agamemnon tried to recover some semblance of masculinity after being caught in an Achilles Sandwich with Odysseus. In the time it took for Odysseus to forget about Dio’s question, Dio was already out the back door and hurrying to the bus that would take him across campus and onto Phthia Street.

Meanwhile, Bri was arriving at the stop near the Phthia library where she and Patroklos spent most of their semesters. She stepped off, clad in nylon tights and a simple black dress. She tugged the sleeves of her leather jacket down farther to cover her fingers against the autumn chill. As evening settled in, so did the Pacific wind. She didn’t mind it as much as she thought she might, but perhaps that was because it took her mind off of  _other things_ .

Namely Patroklos.

She never thought he’d be the type of guy to abandon her as soon as he got into a romantic relationship. She wasn’t quite sure  _what_ she expected of him. She supposed she always knew he was a bit ambiguous when it came to “his type”, so logically, she shouldn’t be this surprised. 

_Achilles isn’t so terrible_ , she told herself, and repeated it to the beat of her heels clicking across the pavement, and to the front door of the restaurant. 

She waited out in the cold, unwilling to warm up until her brain either shut off, or her parents came to distract her from it. Her teeth were starting to chatter as her phone ticked to 5:05 and a throat cleared to her left.

She looked and didn’t process what she was seeing until a second glance. She jumped, startled, and grasped a hand to her chest as she turned away from none other than  _Diomedes_ .

“What the  _fuck_ are you doing here?” she hissed at him. “I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“I heard you needed backup and Patroklos couldn’t make it so…” he let the words fade out and offered a casual shrug in response to her deadly scowl.

“So you thought you’d take it upon yourself to be a hero?” she mocked. “Well, I don’t need it, thank you very much. Go back to doing whatever it is you meat heads do on your days off.”

Dio laughed patronizingly, and Bri could barely restrain her fury as he pushed a hand through his hair and said, “Right. So, uh, what’s your last name again?”

“Lyrnessus,” she bit out, eyes on her feet. She angrily crossed her arms. “Why do you need to know?” 

He didn’t say anything for a beat, and when he did, Bri’s eyes widened and she looked up to where Dio directed a cheery, “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Lyrnessus!”

Sure enough, her parents were heading towards them, dressed in their Sunday best, and… accompanied by the last person in the  _world_ Briseis wanted to see at that moment aside from Patroklos. She put a hand to her head, eyes darting anywhere but where Mynes accompanied her parents to the restaurant door. 

Briseis stared at her mother, desperate for some sort of explanation. All she offered Bri was a stern look to behave before nodding her chin to Dio. “And who might you be? A friend of Briseis?” her mother asked.

Bri’s eyes slid over to Mynes. The bastard in all black attire and hair that looked a centimeter away from officially being deemed balding. It really showed off the  _impressive_ size of his forehead.  _Where else would he store his ego?_ she thought.

“I like to think we’re friends, but I’m probably just getting ahead of myself,” Dio said, and pretended to check his nonexistent watch. “I don’t think Bri intended for me to stick around so I better—”

“Join us,” she finished for him. She ignored the bitter looks her parents gave her when she tugged on Dio’s sleeve to drag him closer to her side. She pegged Mynes with a generous smile. “I reserved an extra seat. Can’t say I was expecting you, though.”

“Your sister couldn’t make it,” Mynes said. 

“Clearly,” she said through clenched teeth. “Let’s go inside.”

At the table, Bri dragged Dio to her side of the circle booth. Her mother squeezed in on her opposite side, followed by her father and Mynes. Bri could feel the tension of all their stares on Dio like a goddamn fist around her heart. She willed herself to loosen the grip a little—both literally and figuratively, because her fingers were frozen numb against the sleeve of Dio’s jacket. She thought she could handle a dinner with just her parents, perhaps to try to talk them out of the position they promised Mynes, but alas, they brought the bastard himself as a buffer.

Though, with the way Mynes stared at her, she felt like that shithead was more of an  _open fire_ than a buffer at this point.

“I take it you aren’t family,” Dio commented to Mynes.

“Chosen family, if you will,” he said. “I work for Briseis’ father.”

“And where is that?” 

“Lyrnessus Surgery Clinic. Based in San Francisco,” her father said. 

“I thought the name sounded familiar,” Dio said as the waitress laid a menu in front of him. He picked it up as he added, “When I fractured my collarbone I went there.”

“And how did that happened?”

“Game against the Trojans, actually,” he said. “I play for the Stallions. I met your daughter through her DPT friend.”

“Patroklos, I imagine,” her father said, and the drone in his tone suggested that the name didn’t sit right on his tongue. 

Dio rose an eyebrow at him and then to Bri, who shook her head and muttered, “Don’t ask…”

“I kind of want to, though,” he whispered back, and Bri elbowed him  _hard_ in the side. He resisted the urge to wince. 

He turned his eyes down to his menu and pretended like the food interested him, but he was  _far_ more invested in the shitshow unraveling in front of him. He’d never seen such a snobby little shit before, but there Mynes was, looking far too pleased with himself as Bri slumped behind the height of her menu. She flushed red, but the furious look on her face made it difficult for Dio to imagine that she was at all flattered by the guy.

_Ex, maybe? I don’t know any girl who’d date that pompous ass, though, let alone Bri_ , he thought, mulling over it until the waitress came by and inquired about drink choices. Bri ordered a Long Island ice tea, which said everything about how she was feeling that night. Dio asked for water and confessed to Mrs. Lyrnessus’ curious expression, “I’m not supposed to drink during the season.”

“I can’t imagine that stops you,” Mynes said. 

“There are other vices,” Dio replied, and Bri scoffed and folded her menu down in front of her.

“Let’s not enlighten them on that,” she said, strained from holding back laughter.

“On what?” her mother asked.

“Pingpong, mostly,” Dio said, and Bri laughed harder than before. “The guys have a table in the basement.”

“More like beer pong,” Mynes said.

“ _Mynes_ ,” Bri hissed.

“You know it’s true,” he said. “I don’t know a single sober football player from my university.”

“That’s probably because they were all shit,” Dio said as he raised the glass of water to his lips and lifted his eyebrows with it. Mynes shrugged, indifferent. Briseis put a hand to her forehead, struggling to keep from bursting out in hysterical laughter because  _why the hell was he there?_ There was no way Patroklos would have sent Dio willingly.

Mynes and Dio continued on with their Size Comparison Banter whilst Bri slowly combusted through the course of dinner. She felt like her IQ was suffering from just sitting at the same table as both Mynes and Dio—two men who  _clearly_ weren’t capable of sharing a single common thread. She could tell her parents weren’t happy with the results of the dinner, but in the end, Bri was grateful that she could piss them off in this one little way. Perhaps they wouldn’t think so highly of Mynes when he reacted like a twat when faced with Diomedes, Stallion linebacker and an unapologetic frat boy.

As they left the restaurant—two  _excruciating hours_ later—her parents walked ahead with her as Mynes and Dio went on arguing. Bri tugged a hand through her hair with a sigh, her breath clouding in front of her.

“Well, it was nice seeing you guys again,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if it was a truthful confession. The displeased expression on her mother’s face reminded Bri how little she wanted to see her parents now.

“And your classes are going well?” she pressed as she had at dinner.

“Yes, Ma, everything’s fine. Patroklos and I study together practically every day,” Bri said with a droning sigh. She lolled her head to the side, pouting at her mother. 

Her mother reached forward, and Bri grudgingly accepted the hug. She looked over at her father and made a point to skirt around the side of the stone hedge, avoiding hugging him. She made as if to leave the opposite way, saying, “Text me when you get home.”

She walked past Mynes, preparing to drag Dio away. They were interrupted by Mynes saying, “So no goodbye hug for me?”

“Family only, bud,” she called over her shoulder. Dio started to turn around, and she heard the inhale of some destructive comeback, but she yanked him forward and shoved him in the back. “Keep moving,” she ground out under her breath.

“Bri,” her father said, and the sternness in his voice had her turning around, visibly annoyed. Mynes was looking at her with that smug-ass rat face. “Behave. Mynes is practically family now.”

“ _Practically_ ,” she said. “Find a way to adopt him before sticking him on me.”

Mynes rolled his eyes, turning on his heels to head after her father. “There are other ways to join families,” Mynes said over his shoulder.

Bri knew that it was what her parents wanted, but she never even fathomed that they had talked to  _the rat_ about it. She was too shocked to say anything, let alone scream like the inside of her brain sounded like. Hearing that come out of Mynes mouth was enough to make her gag.

Before she could think of something to say, like force her parents to be  _reasonable_ , she felt Dio push her aside. Her hip bumped into the stone hedge as she watched Dio reach for Mynes’ shoulder to spin him round. In that same moment, he wheeled his fist back and cracked it across the rat’s pompous face.

Bri threw her hands up to her mouth. Her mother screamed, frantic, as Mynes staggered the instant Dio lifted his hand from the guy’s shoulder. He collapsed back against the stone wall, blood gushing between his fingers.

Dio shook out his fist, but otherwise showed no evidence of post-punch agony. Bri was too busy staring at the blood to bother arguing when Dio took her by the arm and tugged her away from the scene. She couldn’t hear what he had to say for himself before they were jogging across the street and out of sight.

They were a block away when Bri finally found words to say, “I can’t—believe—you  _punched him_ .”

Dio stopped to look at her, only to get a fist to the bicep, and another to the chest. “Whoa, hey!” he cried, fending her off by swatting her arms away.

“You idiot! You punched him square in the nose!” she cried, seething. Dio stared down at her until she was finished panting, halfway to foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. She put a hand to her face, so sure that the tension in her body was at the breaking point. Soon, she’d be crying over the fact that Dio’s stunt probably severed her tuition money. 

Instead, her near-sobs turned into hysterical giggles. She pushed her hands over her eyes and laughed out of horror, but mostly out of  _sheer unadulterated amazement_ . She couldn’t believe she actually witnessed Mynes get the shit beat out of him.


	7. Too Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bri has the time of her life and Achilles is already thirty steps ahead beyond the alter—that boy is just too quick.

“Oh my God—” Bri gasped, clutching at her stomach. “The look on his face!”

As Bri combusted, steadying herself on the fence of one of the fraternity lawns, Dio stared at her in alarm. He waited for an impact of some kind—physical violence, maybe? To make up for the fact that he had just ruined any potential “decent relationship” with her parents? Perhaps just flat-out heartbreak, that seemed more likely. Bri didn’t seem like the type of girl to support that whole affair, and yet, there she was laughing her ass off.

“You aren’t… mad?” he said, nervously.

Bri sighed, brushing her hair back and holding her hand to the top of her head. The tension from the day had vanished, and now all she could do was relax and shake her head. “No, not really,” she confessed.

It was promptly followed by an eye roll. By tomorrow, she’d be back on her bullshit. Tomorrow, she’d bother looking at her phone to see just how many angry voicemails her father left behind. 

She corrected herself: “Okay, well, I’m a little mad. But honestly I just need a glass of wine and Netflix.”

Dio laughed. “Alright. I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio at the house if you want to help yourself,” he said, gesturing down the road. They were just a few blocks from Pi Lambda Phi. 

She decided that she could always change her mind on the way there. “Sure. That sounds nice,” she said, and moved along to walk alongside him. 

Dio tucked his hands into his pockets and asked about what sort of shows she watched. She confessed to being a  _Grey’s Anatomy_ fiend, to which he responded, “Why am I not surprised…” to which she took offense to. His subtle jabs were refreshing, especially knowing the way she’d treated him the days before. Having passive companions were boring—she needed the challenge, and she was starting to warm up to Dio as such.

A companion, maybe? 

That changed over the first two glasses of wine, though—at which point they were in Dio’s room, on his bed, backs to the wall facing his computer monitor on the desk nearby. At the end of the second, she moaned and groaned about how much she despised Mynes, mostly to reassure Dio that the punch was totally called for. In the process of making fun of Mynes’ nose, Bri found herself saying:

“Your nose is  _far_ better than Mynes, even  _if_ it’s been broken,” she said.

Dio put a hand to his nose and snorted. “Wait,  _what?_ ”

Bri flushed up to her hairline, scoffing around the rim of her drink. She coughed and set the glass aside. “I—Oh, gods, that was weird. I’m sorry—“

“No, I’m just impressed that you know I broke my nose. That happened in  _high school_ ,” he said.

“I just assumed!” she cried, shaking her head. She reached a hand out to the bridge of his nose. “Some broken noses have knobs on the bridge. Sometimes its natural so it was just a lucky guess, I swear. It’s mostly assumed to be the shape of your bridge, you know?”

She brushed the pad of her index finger over it. She stared so intently at it that she nearly missed the way his dark eyebrows lifted in amusement, or how his smile widened. He had deep, defined smile lines that bracketed his grin and turned her heart inside out and back again.  _Gods_ , did she love smile lines. Patroklos had smile lines. It was on her checklist of things to look for in a man.

Lean was on that checklist, but Diomedes was anything but. Patroklos had the body of a soccer player—all lean, taunt muscle and legs meant for intense cardio. Diomedes was built like a goddamn truck—shoulders wide, all hard angles and, at a glance, some sense of dependability and durability that girls just couldn’t help but lean into. After two glasses of wine, Bri became one of those girls.

“Fuck it,” she said, pushing herself forward onto her knees.

She clasped her hands around Dio’s jaw and pressed her lips into his. Every inch of her skin tingled from the thrill of Dio reciprocating, his hand resting on her hip, fingers tightening against the soft skin of her stomach. He leant into her, arcing her back into the mattress with her hips raised in his hands and pushed into his own. Her legs looped around his waist, squeezing tight. Her ankles hooked together, her chest seizing up when she gasped for air. 

Dio’s lips kissed the corner of her mouth as she panted, chest rising to meet his own. His hot breath left a damp trail along her jaw and neck where he kissed and sucked red marks along her throat. He raised a hand up to comb his fingers through the curled tendrils of her hair, brushing it over her shoulder to leave kisses along her deep brown skin. 

Without his hand to hold her hips still, she rocked forwards, rolling her hips into his. She reached a hand between them and unbuttoned her tight black jeans and unzipped the flap. 

At the sound of her zipper coming undone, Dio held her hand still, dropping her hips to the mattress. She squirmed around beneath him, frantic energy pulling a smile onto her lips. “Come on—” she said, going for the hem of his pants.

“We don’t have to,” he said. 

She groaned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She slackened, raising her arms up and clasping them over her head. Of course this would happen. Not even the sluttiest guy on the football team would sleep with her. 

She saw him lean in and hesitate below her chin. She lifted her chin higher so she wouldn’t have to see him—or, more likely, so that  _he_ wouldn’t have to see  _her_ . Whenever her eyes started to burn and tighten, tears weren’t too far behind. 

Dio laid his lips to her throat. He opened his mouth and lathed his tongue along her skin, sucking a hickey above the hollow of her throat. She swallowed hard as he kissed the skin around the hem of her shirt, and felt his fingers trail over her stomach, lifting her shirt up below the edge of her bra. 

She arced her back up, her shoulders, and let him pull the shirt up over her head. She settled on her elbows and watched him travel lower, kissing each beauty mark along the way. 

She laughed a little, sniffing as she rubbed a hand over her eye. “What are you doing?” she asked. A shiver ran down her spine when he touched the tender skin at the open flap of her jeans. He tugged her jeans down. She raised her knees and shucked them off to the side before clamping her legs together and pushing them away from Dio. 

He sat up to look at her. She squinted at him.

Realizing he would get no where without an explanation, he climbed up with his hands astride herown and smiled at her. “Have you ever been eaten out before?” he asked, grinning ear-to-ear.

Heat swelled up her face, eyes wide. “I- Um, no—I don’t—” She cleared her throat, laughing nervously. After shaking her head she said, “I don’t exactly  _make a habit_ of asking guys to  _eat me out_ . It’s kind of… gross.”

Dio pressed his lips loosely to her own before dragging his tongue along her bottom lip and saying, “I’m skilled with my tongue. Just trust me.”

“And you’ll stop if I say no?” she asked, breath shaky against his lips.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, and the unconvincing way he said it tightened her stomach into knots as he traveled back down and trailed his fingers along her thighs and to her knees. 

It wasn’t until he started that she realized  _why_ he’d said it like that. As if she’d say no to  _that tongue_ , holy  _fuck_ …

 

* * *

 

Bri opened her eyes the next morning and knew instantly that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. 

“Oh fuck,” she whispered, voice hoarse. She swallowed hard past her dry mouth and throat. Her skin felt like a layer of oil had been slapped onto it, and no amount of brushing her hair aside did the trick. In fact, it just made the situation significantly worse because her hand slapped into a  _very_ bare chest beside her.

The man made a deep, disgruntled noise and shifted—her head moved with it.  _Fuck_ , her head was on his arm. Her  _head_ … was on his  _arm_ . She could feel the heat and moisture from their skin being in contact all night, and the fact that  _that_ was a thing prompted her to drop her hand to her bare stomach, to her bare thighs. 

She grasped for the hem of her panties.  _Still intact_ . 

But—

“Holy fuck,” she hissed, bolting upright. She clutched between her legs, but nothing felt significantly off except for the  _clear evidence_ that she’d had  _too much fun_ the night before. Cursing again, she crawled to the end of the bed like a goddamn crab on four legs. She landed semi-nimbly on the wood flooring and snaked her hand back onto the bed to snatch her shirt and pull it on. 

At that moment, she saw that Dio was still fast asleep, looking like a sweet cherub angel with his hairless chest (all except for that  _happy trail_ she couldn’t help but follow). She shook her head, hand to her forehead. 

She weaseled on her jeans and fixed her hair as best she could without a proper mirror aside from her phone. She went to the narrow basement window and tugged his blinds shut in hopes that he’d stay asleep longer without the sunlight. 

And, that he did. Long after Bri cleaned up in the  _frat boys’ restroom_ , Dio opened his eyes to the dark of his room. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and looked out across his empty room to the sliver of light from the crack in his door. 

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and studied it before dropping his hand beside him, where Bri used to be. 

Dio jolted up, pulling his knees up with him. He clasped a hand over his mouth, and tried his best to hold back his toothy grin, but the smile lines were there. He threw his fists in the air, kicking his legs out with a holler before leaping feet first off the mattress. 

Dio barreled out the door, screaming, “ _I FUCKING DID IT!_ ” followed by maniacal laughter on his way up the stairs and to Odysseus’ room. He jumped three steps at a time and made it to Odysseus’ door with a holler, a kick, and a lunge onto his bed.

Odysseus grunted as the bed bobbed under Dio’s weight. Beside him, Penny squeaked and peeked her head out from under the covers. “Wha’s happenin’?” she groaned. 

Dio thrashed around their covers, emphasizing each word, “I-fucking- _ate-her-out, man!_ It was incredible!” He slapped Odysseus’ legs as aggressively as possible so that the man had no other choice but to sit up to avoid further abuse. Odysseus squinted at him, shaking his head in confusion. “ _Briseis_ ,” Dio said. 

“No way,” Penny exclaimed. “That’s awesome! Congrats!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Odysseus said, waving his hands. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, annoyed, “You…  _got with Briseis_ , and your first thought was to  _eat her out_ ?”

“Well, she was drunk so I didn’t want to fuck her,” Dio explained.

Penny slapped Odysseus on the arm. “What’s wrong with that?” she said. She slapped him again and gestured to Dio. “He  _never_ eats me out. Can you believe it?”

“I know, Penny, you’re beautiful down there,” Dio said.

“Watch it,” Odysseus seethed, pushing himself off the bed.

“You should put pussy on your diet, buddy,” Dio called out after him as Odysseus started for the door. Odysseus flipped him off before disappearing out of sight. Dio sighed and said to Penny, “I’ll convince him to do it one of these days, just you wait.”

“Where’s Bri now?” she asked.

Dio shrugged with a sigh. “Don’t know. Woke up and she was gone.”

Penny rolled off the bed, showing off her bright orange shorts beneath the loose fabric of one of Odysseus’ old, retired jerseys. The hem was torn up and stained, and the blue was faded from unholy amounts of washing. Dio collapsed back on the bed with his arms tucked up behind his head. He watched as she took a whiteboard marker from Odysseus’ desk and struck a tally in the corner of the whiteboard, bringing the total up to eight for that year.

She capped the marker. “I’m sad now. We all could’ve gone out for coffee this morning,” she said, waving the marker around. She tapped it to her chin and sighed. “Maybe she had something going on this morning.”

“It’s Sunday,” Dio deadpanned.

“People do things on Sundays,” she countered, sticking her hands to her hips. “Did she like it?”

Dio’s lips spread into a wide grin as he nodded. Penny rolled her eyes and gestured dramatically to the board. “You’re teasing me here! Look at all these notches on your bedpost!”

Dio settled back on Odysseus’ pillow, still grinning. “Satisfied customers,” he said.

“You do realize that if I wasn’t engaged, I’d have you on your knees,” she threatened, slapping the marker back onto the desk. “I’m pissed!” she cried, arms in the air. She stomped for the door. “ _Odysseus!_ ”

“Stop ruining my sex life, Diomedes!” Odysseus shouted from the bathroom. When she opened the bedroom door, they could hear the trickle of piss entering the toilet bowl. 

“Pissed!” she screamed.

“ _Penny_ ! Oh, my gods, people are sleeping!” Odysseus shouted back.

She slammed the bedroom door. Dio threw his head back laughing, entirely too pleased with this show. “Damn, Penny, you really know how to bolster my ego,” he said with a wiggle of his shoulders.

Penny braced her arms as if to hoist up a deadlift. “Bolster!” she said, dropping her ass low and rising up just as Odysseus returned back to the room. He stopped, the bags under his eyes only emphasizing how done he was with this rendezvous with Diomedes. 

Penny whirled on him instantly, fists still in the air. “Did you wash your hands?” she said.

Odysseus turned back around with a groan and marched back to the bathroom. Once he was gone, Penny returned to the situation at hand. “You know, I don’t think I want to do oral anymore,” she said.

Dio propped his head up on his hand and gave a shrug. “It’s hard work, sucking dick,” he said.

“It really is,” she agreed. “I’m glad you understand me.”

“Not on a personal level. Just… objectively speaking. It seems like more work, if I’m being honest. Even if the subject is external, you know,” he said nonchalantly. Penny nodded, looking thoughtful as she cupped her chin with her hand and gave the topic another thorough examination. 

Odysseus returned, hands freshly cleaned. He left the door open and gestured to it, his eyes on Dio. Dio waved his hand dismissively at it. As Odysseus groaned and started for his desk, Penny came to her conclusion.

“Okay! It’s settled. I’m going on Dick Sucking Strike,” she decided. She clasped her hands together eagerly, beaming at Dio, and then beaming at her boyfriend, who was halfway to sitting in his desk chair.

Odysseus hesitated, staring at her, and then furiously at Dio as he finished his descent into the chair. Penny squealed eagerly and jumped up and down. 

“Yay! I’ve never gone on strike before,” she said.

“Babe, you know this is just—”

Dio shushed him and said, “Let the woman speak.”

“What has Bri done to you,” Odysseus seethed at him. 

“You’d know if you licked vaginas more often,” Penny snapped at him.

The comeback was so alarming that both Dio and Odysseus were speechless. Penny broke out into a grin and sidled off out of the room, shoulders back, chin up. She looked precisely like the sort of woman who no longer had to suck dick.

Odysseus leant back in his chair, arms crossed. “Whatever. I don’t need my dick sucked anyways. Right? Like, that’s fine,” he said, looking to Dio for affirmation.

Dio pushed himself up with a sigh and shrugged. As he left, Odysseus called out after him, desperate, “Right?!”

 

* * *

 

_10.30.18 —_ **_BRISEIS_ ** _has joined SEXY BALLS_

(09:06)  **BRI:** _What._

(09:07)  **PAT:** _What_

(09:07)  **PAT:** _Who did this?_

(09:09)  **BRI:** _Wait, it wasn’t you?_

(09:09)  **PAT:** _No cuz you’d be mad at me_

(09:10)  **BRI:** _I am mad, but I don’t know who to direct it towards_

(09:11)  **ODY:** _Since when did this become a med school group chat_

(09:13)  **AGA:** _OOOOOOOO_

(09:13)  **BRI:** _We aren’t in med school, asshat_

(09:14)  **BRI:** _I know who you are._

(09:17)  **ODY:** _That’s so ominous_

(09:18)  **ODY:** _I didn’t realize you were savage_

(09:20)  **AGA:** _Odysseus, underestimating a woman? This isn’t like you_

(09:20)  **AGA:** _What happened to you Ody?_

(09:21)  **DIO:** _Penny’s on Dick Sucking Strike_

(09:22)  **AJA:** _YEEEAAAAAASSSS_

(09:22)  **AGA:** _OODYYYYYYYYYYYY OOOOOOHHHH_

(09:23)  **AGA:** _WhAT’D YOU DO THIS TIME_

(09:24)  **ODY:** _LITERALLY NOTHING_

(09:24)  **PEN:** _Literally ;)_

(09:25)  **DIO:** _BAHAHAHAHA_

(09:26)  **ODY:** _D:_

(09:27)  **PEN:** _Is it working babe :D_

(09:28)  **ODY:** _No I don’t need my dick sucked_

(09:28)  **ODY:** _Right?_

(09:31)  **AJA:** _Whatever makes you feel better_

(09:35)  **BRI:** _I’m muting this chat_

 

 

_10.30.18_

(10:21)  **DIO:** _I may or may not have asked Achilles to add you to the chat_

(10:35)  **BRI:** _Of fucking course you did_

(10:37)  **BRI:** _Wait, how’d he get my number?_

(10:38)  **DIO:** _I imagine he stole it from Patroklos’ phone_

(10:39)  **DIO:** _That kid does NOT keep track of his phone_

(10:40)  **BRI:** _Yeah that’s true_

(10:45)  **BRI:** _Listen… about Saturday night…_

(10:45)  **DIO:** _Yeah?_

(10:50)  **BRI:** _I feel like we need to talk about it._

(10:52)  **BRI:** _Like, we both got it out of our systems and it won’t happen again_

(10:54)  **BRI:** _I don’t drink very often but I appreciate that you set a boundary_

(10:55)  **DIO:** _You weren’t messy if that’s what you’re referring to_

(10:58)  **DIO:** _You’re still classy when you’re tipsy ;)_

(10:59)  **BRI:** _Christ, Dio, I’m being serious_

(11:01)  **BRI:** _And you really didn’t have to do THAT_

(11:02)  **DIO:** _Do what_

(11:03)  **BRI:** _You know_

(11:03)  **DIO:** _I really don’t can you refresh my memory ;)_

(11:05)  **BRI:** _It’s embarrassing and you know it_

(11:08)  **DIO:** _Well, I had a good time_

(11:09)  **DIO:** _And honestly I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you at the library cafe with Achilles and Patroklos_

(11:09)  **DIO:** _Still do_

(11:12)  **BRI:** _Dio…_

(11:13)  **BRI:** _Honestly I thought you’d be over this_

(11:14)  **BRI:** _Like, novelty wore off move on buddy_

(11:16)  **DIO:** _Okay I’ll move on_

(11:17)  **DIO:** _To tomorrow night? PiLam’s throwing a costume party._

(11:18)  **BRI:** _No_

(11:19)  **BRI:** _And I’m serious_

(11:20)  **DIO:** _I’ll put your name on the list_

(11:25)  **BRI:** _Don’t text me again or I’m blocking your number_

* * *

 

“I don’t… do Halloween,” Patroklos confessed as he waved away the flannel shirt Achilles tossed at him. He deflected it onto the bed, only to be bombarded by another, and another, and—“Since when do you wear flannel?”

“I was a goddamn lumberjack in high school when I wasn’t wearing Adidas sweatshirts,” Achilles said from his post on the floor, rifling through the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. “I want you to be a lumberjack.”

“Why?”

“Because I think they’re sexy,” he confessed. He looked up to meet Patroklos’ dumbfounded expression, as if to challenge him to deny the sexiness of lumberjacks. “We’ll get you a fake axe.”

“What—? No, Achilles, I’m serious. I am  _not_ dressing up for Halloween. I think it’s childish,” Patroklos insisted. 

He walked back to Achilles’ desk where he had his laptop open and his notebook out. “Do you have index cards? I left mine at my apartment,” he asked, and Achilles thought about it for a moment before declaring that they were in the top drawer on the left. Patroklos tugged it open.

At the top of the pile, Patroklos found a stack of photographs bound by a rubber band. He recognized the face at the top of the stack, and tugged it out from beneath the band. He saw her face so often in sports magazines and Nike advertisements, but he expected Thetis to look different in candid photos. Every angle of the sports olympian was just as perfect as the last—almost terrifyingly so. She was often advertised as an aggressive, threatening figure at the head of track elitists. Anyone with that sort of skill had to be something of a beast. 

The photos were taken in the warm, sea green waters of Greece. The one below the portrait of Thetis showed as much—the white, rocky cliffside and colored rooftops, the pure white beach tucked away amongst the cliffs. 

“Do you go to Greece often?” Patroklos asked. 

“Oh, yeah, we have family there,” Achilles said from the ground. He tipped back until he was lying down, a shirt bundled between his hands. He had his blonde hair tied up in a bun, but the baby hairs still curled against his forehead. “Ma’s there now, actually. Have you ever been out of the US?”

“No, no I haven’t,” Patroklos said, shaking his head. He laughed a little at the thought, dropping his gaze back to the photographs. He flipped to the next. It was a photo of Achilles, his hair damp from the water, and his smile just as bright as always. “I’ve only been to two states and that’s Texas and California.”

“You should travel more,” Achilles said. He dropped the shirt and stretched his hands high over his head. “You could come to Greece with me this winter break.”

“As if,” Patroklos laughed. He looked over to Achilles. Achilles sat up and stared back at him. “Oh, you’re serious,” he murmured, scratching nervously at his neck. He set the pictures down and went back to looking for index cards. He found the pack and tore it open.

“I’m serious,” Achilles said. He pushed himself up and stepped over, using as little pressure on his bad foot as possible. He didn’t necessarily need the crutches for such a short distance now, but it still made Patroklos nervous.

He went to meet Achilles halfway and ducked low so that Achilles could drape his arm around Patroklos’ shoulders. A worry line started to draw itself across Patroklos’ forehead by the time he settled Achilles on the edge of the bed near the desk. Achilles draped an arm over the headboard post and pushed his cheek against it, watching as Patroklos went back to the desk and accumulated a neat pile of photos to rest back in the drawer.

“You don’t have to come to the party if you don’t want to,” Achilles said, softly, as if that was what drew the line.

Patroklos rubbed a hand over his forehead and sighed. “It isn’t that. I’d be happy just… hanging out here if it’ll keep you off your foot.”

“Then what is it?” Achilles asked. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he insisted, shaking his head. He found the notecards and pulled them up onto the desk along with a Sharpie. He uncapped it and started jotting notes down from his class notebook. 

“But I want to talk about it,” Achilles said to the sound of Patroklos’ marker dragging over paper. 

Patroklos glanced at him incredulously, and Achilles raised his eyebrows, defiant as ever. With a sigh, Patroklos spun the seat around to face him.

“Fine,” he said, “I think you’re too trusting of me.”

Achilles started out with a worried look, and having heard what was on Patroklos’ mind, had the nerve to laugh. He snorted, cheeky grin and all, and looked down at his laugh. He giggled a little, and Patroklos groaned.

“I’m serious, Achilles. We really only just met the other week,” he insisted, gesturing as if the timeline of their acquaintance-to-relationship consisted of a short walk to the door.

“Yeah, and so am I!” Achilles said, turning his smile up to Patroklos. “It’s not that I  _chose_ not to see the bad in people—I do!—I just think it’s more effective to see the good in everyone until they prove otherwise.”

“But Achilles—” Patroklos started, but never got around to finishing it because Achilles was flopping back on his bed and pulling his phone up to his face.

Patroklos scowled at him, and then at his empty notecards. Achilles had just offered him a free trip to Greece. Patroklos would love to go, but he imagined anyone else would, too, and would take advantage of Achilles’ kindness just to squeeze those sorts of things out of him. He wondered how many dates Achilles went on, and how many of his dates did so just to get Achilles to pay the bill.

He could see then why Odysseus might despise people like Patroklos, who swung into Achilles’ life unannounced. Patroklos could have easily been a poor college student looking for someone else to pay the monetary price that came with having a significant other. To take advantage of Achilles’ good fortune. And, even though he  _was_ relatively poor as far as Pelion University students came, he wasn’t looking for handouts, or even a significant other at that. Achilles was a happy coincidence. 

At that moment, he saw his phone light up on the other side of the desk. He had it on silent, and hadn’t expected to notice the text that came in from Bri.

 

* * *

 

_10.30.18_

(13:34)  **BRI:** _I made a mistake_

(13:35)  **BRI:** _Are you near campus?_

(13:35)  **PAT:** _Yeah I’m studying at Pilam. You can come up to Achilles’ room if you want?_

(13:36)  **BRI:** _Ugh I’m feelin sketched out by Pilam right now. Do you have notecards made yet?_

(13:38)  **PAT:** _In the process of making them. Wanna meet up?_

(13:38)  **BRI:** _Excellent. Finish as many as you can while I walk over there._

(13:40)  **PAT:** _Ok_

* * *

 

Patroklos waddled out of the Pilam back door, clad in his winter jacket, and wrapped in a bright orange scarf from Achilles. He had the notecards in one hand, and held them out as he approached Bri on the sidewalk. She was hiding behind the neighboring frat’s brick hedge, clad in a black jacket, sunglasses, a scarf to cover her mouth, and a hat to cover her hair.

She took them with a quick, muffled thanks and dragged him off, far away from Pilam. They turned the corner at the next road and crossed the street, cutting between the Pelion tennis courts that were out for the season. As soon as they were across the first court, she tugged the scarf down with a huff and ripped the cap off.

“So what’s this about?” Patroklos asked as they walked, and as Bri sifted through the cards.

“Give an example of noiceceptive and non-noiceceptive reflex?” Bri said, and he responded with, “Withdrawal and tendon stretch.”

She went to the next card, saying, “Dio showed up at the restaurant last night.”

Patroklos’ heart nearly stopped, and his feet definitely did. He halted in the middle of the sidewalk, horrified, but managed a slight breath of relief when Bri shook her head at him and rolled her eyes. So it wasn’t an awful ordeal.

“Dio wasn’t even the issue—Mynes was there.” Before Patroklos could say a word, she asked, “Greatest concentration of opiod receptors are where?”

“Periaquaductal grey matter—Why was Mynes there?” he asked rapidly, following along after her.

“Where? And my sister couldn’t come so my parents thought to invite him,” she said.

“Midbrain. So what happened with Mynes? I assume Dio has something to do with it.”

“Yeah, Dio was fine until we left the restaurant. Mynes said something snarky and Dio punched him.” She switched cards. “Most difficult type of pain to treat.”

“Chronic neuropathic pain—You’re  _kidding!_ ” Patroklos laughed, hand clasped over his mouth. He threw his arms down and cried, “Oh gods! I wish I could’ve seen that!”

“It _was_ pretty incredible…”

“Wait, but what does this have to do with you making a mistake? It’s not like you invited Dio,” he said. At this, Bri scratched the back of her head with a pained hiss, as though thinking about it hurt her brain.

“Yeah… but afterwards… Dio and I sort of… hooked up?” she said. Patroklos couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared straight ahead and tried to force his mind to concentrate, because there was no way in the world that he heard that correctly. “I mean, it didn’t  _mean_ anything—Patroklos?” she said, worried.

He put a hand to his forehead. “I need to sit down,” he said.

He staggered onto a nearby bench and shook his head. “That’s… so weird. I thought you just said you hooked up with Dio.”

Bri scowled down at him. “I did, Patty.”

“ _How?_ Why? I thought you hated him,” he cried out, genuinely confused. Since when did Bri sleep with  _anyone?_ She never  _once_ showed interest in that sort of life. They had both been content with their books. And with  _Diomedes?_

Bri groaned and threw her hands down. “I  _know_ . And now I  _fucked up_ because I actually liked it and now Dio thinks we’re a thing or something—”

“What—”

“Can you help me? To convince him that it was a one-time thing?” she begged. She dropped to her knees in front of him and clasped her hands onto his knees. She gave him a shake. “ _Pleasepleasepleaseplease—_ ”

“Well, if you liked it, why don’t you want to continue with him?” he asked. Bri frowned up at him, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t be denying yourself the things that make you happy.”

“Yeah, well, not if it’s  _sex_ ,” she hissed under her breath, blushing profusely. “I’m honestly just amazed that Dio isn’t over this.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re a real catch, Bri,” he said, and she giggled, pushing herself back onto her heels. 

“How are you and Achilles?” she asked, biting her lip as Patroklos sighed and slumped in his seat. “Oh no. What happened?”

“Nothing really. Well, okay, maybe one thing in particular…” he said, scratching at the stubble collecting on his chin. Consequences of repeatedly staying the night at Pilam. “He… practically  _invited me_ to go to Greece with him. And he doesn’t believe me that he’s too willing to trust people.”

“Wait— _what?_ ” she gawked, popping up to her feet. “You’re kidding! To  _Greece?_ ”

“Yeah! And he didn’t think twice about it, like traveling abroad is the next step in a relationship,” he cried, thrashing his hands about. At last, he flopped down with a whine. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Maybe… the  _truth?_ ” she said, sitting beside him. “It sounds like he’s taking this too fast for you.”

“You think so?” he said, quietly. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but Bri was right. She was  _always_ right. 

The last thing he wanted was to lose Achilles, though. He never felt this way about  _anyone_ —the exhilarating, yet painful throb in his heart that told him how much he yearned to be at Achilles’ side  _right now_ . He wanted to hold Achilles’ hand where his fingers felt lonely, craving the wholehearted attention Achilles was so willing to give.

**Author's Note:**

> Fight us on Tumblr!
> 
>  
> 
> [girlskylark](http://girlskylark.tumblr.com/)  
> [thesearchingastronaut](http://thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com/)


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